


One way ticket

by forsekais



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Murder, Nipple Play, Romance, mention of gunplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsekais/pseuds/forsekais
Summary: Jongin is a sugar baby. Sehun is his bodyguard. Neither of them is here to play, but a little bit of fun won't hurt.Or so they think.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun, Kim Jongin | Kai/Other(s)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 685
Collections: monthlysekai's Re: KAI





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> I add the tags so you can be aware of any possible triggering topic. I promise the story is not that dark!
> 
> Please be noted that there's Jongin/OC relationship. But like how all roads lead to Rome, it's always Sekai at the end of the day (:
> 
> A special thank you and a big hug for the mods, who have been very patient with me. I don't deserve you guys >_<

_So goddamn boring_ , Jongin thinks as he sips at his wine. The ballroom is elegant and exquisite, large walls covered in shimmering gold paper and a candelabra hung above the Danish oak dining table. Next to him, Vincent is talking to a group of men and women about clean energy. The polished silver fork in Vincent’s hand shines brightly under the light. A smile tucks at the corner of Vincent’s lips, calculated and devoid of emotions, as he nods at whatever the woman in red dress is saying. She’s from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Jongin vaguely remembers. He doesn’t care. The gala dinner is organized under the premise that top leaders in the country are genuinely passionate about building a sustainable future where the environment is protected and children have access to education at all levels. Jongin knows none of this is true, but no one needs to hear his opinion. The only reason he’s here is because Vincent didn’t give him a choice.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The host announces, drawing attention to the stage. “It’s my honor to introduce Mr. James Baker from the US Embassy.”

Baker begins his monotonous speech with a story about his childhood friend who came from an immigrant family. Jongin is bored. He shifts to his right and leans closer to whisper in Vincent’s ear, hot lips deliberately breathing into the delicate shell. Vincent loves that. “I’m heading out for a bit.”

Vincent turns to face him, piercing eyes gazing over Jongin’s form. “Sure, honey,” he wraps his arm around the low of Jongin’s waist and pulls him closer for a show of possession. Jongin arches into the touch. “Just don’t take long. There are still a few friends I’d like you to meet.”

The word _friends_ comes out of Vincent’s mouth so naturally that Jongin almost believes it. Deceiving, it’s who Vincent is. Jongin isn’t fond of deception, but as the saying goes, you can’t always get what you want. Fortunately (or unfortunately, Jongin isn’t sure), the skillfully crafted fake pleasantness oozing from Vincent’s every pore is one of his many charms. The man is a lot more than that — smart, ruthless, powerful, and most importantly, rich. That’s why Jongin came into his arms.

He walks past the long row of hand carved tables towards the entrance door. Behind him, Baker is reminiscing about his friendship with the immigrant kid to make certain points for his own benefits. _Politicians_ , Jongin thinks disdainfully, a scowl making its way to his face when he sees a tall figure approaching him from the corner of the room. Today is a Dior suit. Jongin immediately drops the scowl and lets a cheshire grin take place.

“Hey,” Jongin greets while admiring the view in front of him. The only scene worth watching tonight, he thinks as his eyes roam over the perfectly chiseled face, the beautiful feather-like eyelashes and the tantalizing deep brown eyes staring back at him. 

“Where are you going?” Sehun asks. 

“Bathroom,” Jongin says. He mulls it over. “And maybe a smoke break.”

Sehun steps closer, Jongin’s Casablanca wool crepe jacket folded neatly over one arm. He stops when he’s a few feet away, polite and professional, waiting for Jongin to tell him what to do next. A man of manners, always considerate. 

“Come with me,” Jongin smiles. He waves a hand dismissively when Sehun’s about to offer him the jacket. “I don’t need it.”

Sehun nods and steps in front of Jongin to lead the way. His posture is perfect: he walks with his back straight, a standard shoulder-width distance between his feet and he keeps his head level. Dior should send Sehun a personalized letter, thanking him for shining a new shade of glorious light on their resort collection. Broad shoulders, lean frame, snatched waist, long legs and a very, very edible apple bottom. Jongin has no idea why Sehun is here, spending a lovely evening pacing around the crowded room with a walkie-talkie device on his belt when he could have been sitting at the front row of a luxurious fashion show in Paris as the most sought-after model in the world. But he’s glad. _Hiring Sehun_ , Jongin feels his mouth go dry at the sight of Sehun’s firm, perky ass, _is one of the best investments Vincent’s ever made._

The previous bodyguard was not bad. He may have been slightly passive aggressive, often threatening anyone who approached Jongin with his gun, but it was because of his unwavering loyalty to Vincent. Other than that, the guy was good at his job. In two months Jongin stayed with him, he didn’t get a scratch. The guy was kind too, there hadn’t been a day he forgot to say, “Have a good day” and “Goodnight, enjoy your evening” to Jongin. 

Sadly, sometimes bad things happen to good people. It was a rainy night. Slick roads, wet brakes, and a careless motorist crashing into the back of the shiny red Porsche. Jongin’s bodyguard was pronounced dead at the scene. The motorist was taken to a hospital but couldn’t survive the surgery. Vincent took Jongin to the funeral, gave his family members what Jongin believed was a check and a few words of condolences, straightforward like the way he runs his businesses. Then it was over. When they walked out of the door, the helpless cries of the bodyguard’s mother still echoing in Jongin’s ears, there was a black Rolls-Royce Phantom waiting for them. The door whispered itself shut, silently as if pushed by a ghostly footman, and then Jongin realized a new presence behind the wheel.

“Jongin-ah,” Vincent placed a hand on Jongin’s lower back, tracing up and down golden skin with his fingertips. “Meet your new bodyguard, Oh Sehun.”

Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. Sehun’s eyes were bewitching, the color of earth kissed by the rain. He stared at Jongin from under his thick lashes, and there was something so reassuring that for a second, Jongin thought time had stopped. 

It didn’t, but in the moment before Jongin closed his eyes and let Vincent coax his mouth open with his tongue, surrounded by the dense silence as still as an empty house on a snowy night, Jongin had a feeling that things would never be the same again.

 _And I was right_ , Jongin thinks, a delicious heat building up in all the right places as Sehun touches at Jongin’s waistline, unzipping and unceremoniously shoving Jongin’s expensive pants down his hips. Sehun is right up in Jongin’s face, pressing Jongin against the bathroom stall door, delicate, pretty fingers wrap around Jongin’s cock and start stroking it to full hardness. Jongin whimpers when Sehun twists both hands in opposite directions and moves slowly up and down his shaft. Jongin feels his breath hitch and desire flutter under his skin as Sehun leans down to gently lick at the precome on his slit, a hand rhythmically massages his balls. Sehun’s tongue is wet and hot. Slippery, as he laps at the skin at the head and pumps his other hand along the rest of Jongin’s cock.

“S-Sehun,” Jongin moans. He lets his head thump against the door, thread his fingers through Sehun’s luscious, soft locks. “Hurry up.” 

Sehun makes a sound of acknowledgement in his throat, then he pulls away. Jongin gasps, legs shaking and cock throbbing. He circles his hand around to the back of Sehun’s neck, craving for the plush wetness of Sehun’s mouth, but Sehun is quicker, grabbing Jongin’s wrist and looking up at him, a stern expression in his alluring eyes. There’s a beautiful flush on his cheeks, his sweat glistening under the fluorescent warm white lighting. Jongin wonders how the salty liquid tastes if he shrinks to the marble floor and kisses Sehun. It’s impossible.

Sehun twirls a finger around the leaking head, sending electric sparks up to Jongin’s spine. Jongin exhales deeply, blinking at Sehun through half-lidded eyes. “Please,” he whines, his voice pitiful and needy, but he couldn’t care less, not when he could come undone at the way Sehun’s hairline darkens where the sweat builds up on his thick, prominent brow. “ _Please_.”

When Sehun presses his thumb to Jongin’s hip, gently to make sure there’s no bruise, and licks a stripe up his cock, Jongin shamelessly pushes forward and ruts against Sehun’s mouth. Sehun moves closer without any noise, then tucks his hair behind his ear and takes Jongin all the way in, until all Jongin sees is Sehun’s head bobbing up and down, eagerly rubbing his swollen cock with his amazing tongue, drawing wrecked moans out of Jongin. He picks up the rhythm of his hand around the balls to match the movement of his mouth on Jongin as he hears Jongin’s broken gasp echo around the small cubicle. Sehun knows Jongin’s close, by how he tenses his thighs and how his cock twitches with every touch of his tongue. Sehun finishes the way Jongin likes, pressing his lips to the underside, then hollowing his cheeks to let Jongin drown in the rising heat, holding him there and it doesn’t take long for Jongin to come down Sehun’s throat, hot and fast. 

Sehun doesn’t let go, swallowing and swirling his pink tongue around the head, milking every last drop. When he stands up, his lips are red and shiny with Jongin’s come. He takes a step forward and positions himself against the wall next to Jongin, unbuttons his slacks and takes his cock into his own hands, jerking himself off at a pace that wouldn’t take much time for him to come so no one would question why they disappear into the bathroom, together, for so long. 

Sighing, Jongin joins Sehun and wraps a hand around the base of Sehun’s cock. Sehun’s breath is sharp on Jongin’s shoulder as the latter strokes him to orgasm a few moments later, spurting thick, pearly white over their fists. 

“It isn’t fair to you,” Jongin murmurs as they stand side by side at the porcelain sinks, fixing their clothes and their hair. “You should’ve let me return the favor.”

“Your timing is terrible,” Sehun says, voice unimpressed. “Let’s go back.”

Jongin looks at Sehun’s reflection in the mirror. The flush has faded almost completely, his long hair slicked back neatly, and he no longer smells like want and desire. Sehun always manages to look like he just walks out of a pleasant, relaxing tea party right after he blows Jongin in a stall too small for two grown men, and Jongin thinks this ability of Sehun to maintain _looks_ is really admirable.

He points at his wool jacket on one of Sehun’s arms. “Do you want a smoke?”

Sehun’s answer is the same. “I don’t smoke when I’m on duty.” He pauses, and glances at Jongin’s bottom lip, swollen from how hard he bit down on it earlier to stay quiet. “But you probably need one.”

“I sure do,” Jongin agrees. “Leave nothing behind, correct?”

It was their agreement when they first started this on a summer evening, a month after Sehun’s employment. Vincent was in Osaka for the annual South East Asian Economic Summit, leaving Jongin alone in the mansion, stressed out about a particularly difficult client he was dealing with at work and desperately needed to let off steam. Entered Sehun, his gorgeous bodyguard in all his topless glory, droplets of water glowing like diamond dust on smooth, flawless skin. Jongin swallowed as he watched Sehun climb out of the swimming pool and dry his hair with a towel, those veiny arms and firm, toned stomach muscles only made the fire in Jongin’s gut burn brighter. And that was how he found himself in front of Sehun’s room, located in the far west wing of the mansion, and asked, “Do you want to sleep with me?”

Sehun’s immediate “No” didn’t change the outcome. It made the situation more...methodical. They laid out ground rules: condom first, no hickey, no kissing, no kinky play without consent, no one else could know, and when they were done, both were responsible for the cleanup. It felt like planning for a hit-and-run together more than for a convenient physical relationship, but Jongin got what he came for, so it was a good bargain, he supposed.

Another three months have passed since then. Things are going well. Vincent has no clue, Sehun is excellent at his job, and Jongin is just Jongin, trying to figure out his life while enjoying what he can have. 

It’s not a big deal. Not when every time he glances around to search for his bodyguard, he always catches Sehun’s gaze on him. Unwavering and loyal.

*

Vincent chuckles breathlessly as Jongin draws his mouth away carefully but remains on his knees between Vincent’s thighs. “God, Jongin,” Vincent says, cupping his jaw and drawing him up on his lap. He kisses Jongin hungrily, chasing after the taste of his own release behind Jongin’s teeth. Jongin moans against Vincent’s lips, feeling the strength of warm hands on his waist. The fragrance of Hungarian roses drifts over them. Jongin opens his eyes to meet cerulean blue, and the crispy sunlight through the curtains leaving glowing orange hues on Vincent’s shoulder. 

“Oh boy, I wish I could stay here forever,” Vincent says, just a whisper from Jongin’s plump, reddened lips. “Your pretty mouth took me so good.”

“I’ll let you know my mouth is not the only pretty thing about me,” Jongin says. Vincent’s blue eyes sparkle with mischief as he captures Jongin in another open-mouthed kiss, but soon they’re interrupted by a familiar alarm sound from Vincent’s work phone.

“I hate this,” Vincent grumbles while swiftly getting off the king size bed. In the blink of an eye, the lazy, cheerful Vincent has disappeared to give the spot back to the sharp-witted businessman Vincent. Jongin sits up against the Mayfair headboard, scrolling through his tablet and soon Vincent is back, looking powerful in a tailored Tom Ford suit and smelling like his exquisite blend of cologne, one that was custom made for him. Jongin shifts toward him like an obedient cat, leaning up to kiss him goodbye.

“I’ll be back for dinner tonight,” Vincent smirks in a way that suggests Jongin is the dinner. 

“Mmmh,” Jongin wiggles his brow, knowing exactly how distracting he is. “See you then. I’m going to visit my sister today. Do you need me to pick up the wine from Jaewon hyung?”

“Oh right, that would be great. Since the hospital and Jaewon’s place are on the same route.” Vincent nods. “How is she doing?”

There’s no concern in his tone. Jongin doesn’t need it from him either. “She’s alright. I think the doctor wants to meet me next week to discuss something.”

“Well, keep me updated. I have to go. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Jongin smiles. “I will.”

If someone had told him six months ago that one day he’d become a trophy lover for a billionaire, Jongin would’ve beaten them to a pulp. Sure, he came from a working class family, but he was raised with dignity. His parents passed away in a tragic train accident when he was eleven, which changed his life significantly, but luckily he has his strong, brave and wholesome elder sister. Aera sacrificed her dream for Jongin. She turned down her law school scholarship and started taking any possible job to take care of Jongin. Even on their worst days, Aera made sure her brother got to finish college without worrying about any financial burden. She taught Jongin about perseverance and kindness. Aera is Jongin’s sunshine. His inspiration. His anchor. He made a promise to himself that once he graduated, he’d work hard to repay her. He’d take her to Europe. Get her away from metropolitan Seoul, buy her a house in the countryside where she could plant a garden. 

But all dreams came crashing down, just a few months after his graduation. Jongin was preparing for a meeting when he received a call from the district police. Aera was crossing the street when a truck driver from the opposite lane lost control of the vehicle. Jongin waited for three nights, sleepless, and the first thing came out of Aera was, “Who are you?”

Post-traumatic amnesia due to critical head injury that involved both retrograde and anterograde amnesia. Aera forgot everything. The injury also led to motor deficits. Spasticity, problems walking, talking, and extreme difficulty carrying objects. Even worse, during surgery, the doctors discovered a lung tumor, which turned out to be malignant. Everything after that was a blur. A lengthy, complicated treatment plan that caused a fortune. Jongin was falling into a pit of despair. His junior accountant job at a publisher couldn’t cover the hospital bills. Aera didn’t recognize him, and the news about her cancer had turned her into a completely different person — impatient and moody. Jongin barely slept, then one day he fainted in the elevator, and woke up with Mark from Marketing hovering over him with worried eyes. He told Mark everything in tears, too exhausted to keep a facade, and by the end of their conversation, Mark gave him a phone number.

“He’s a friend of Donghyuck,” Mark said in a timid voice. Jongin didn’t know any Donghyuck, but he guessed that was the name of the young guy who showed up in front of their office building every Wednesday and Friday to pick up Mark, each time in a different luxurious car and a different hair color. “He’s looking for...someone.”

Jongin cleared his throat. “A boy toy.”

Mark winced. “Not a toy. Everyone has physical needs, you know. This sugar daddy situation is not necessarily a bad thing. Donghyuck’s friend is in his late thirties, so you don’t have to worry about inadvertently calling him daddy because he’s as old as your dad. I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“It’s alright. They were gone a long time ago. I have Aera noona.” His chest tightened at the image of his sister laying helplessly on the hospital bed. “Just...how rich is this guy?”

“Have you heard of VG?”

“Dude,” Jongin snorted. “I may have been busy, but I’m not a caveman. Everyone knows VG.”

VG is a conglomerate focusing on real estate development, retail, and services ranging from healthcare to hospitality. Originally starting as a retailer in San Francisco, the company expanded quickly. Five years ago, they bought a supermarket chain in Beijing and started operations in China. Now, VG has 52 subsidiary companies operating in 20 countries around the world, becoming one of the largest global corporate goliaths. Last December, VG became the youngest company to reach a market valuation of $2 trillion, a mark that took giants like Microsoft or Amazon almost a decade to achieve. In Seoul, the products of VG are everywhere. The insurance for staff at Jongin’s company is from VGM, VG’s healthcare subsidiary. 

“Well, then you should know Vincent Lee,” Mark said. “He’s the founder and chairman of VG.”

Jongin spent two days looking up Vincent Lee on the internet before he decided to send a message. In contrast with VG’s popularity, there was not much information about Vincent Lee besides the basic: he was born and raised in New York, where his father ran a prestigious law firm. He graduated from Yale with a double degree in Business Management and Engineering, then earned his MBA from Harvard. He was secretive about his private life, keeping all the interviews strictly about work. 

Their first meeting took place at a tea shop in Hongdae. Vincent showed up wearing the latest collection of Adidas, looking like a college athlete. He checked Jongin up and down, deep blue eyes piercing through Jongin’s skin, dampened with nervous sweat. 

“Why do you want to do this?” He asked, voice soft, but emotionless. Jongin felt a shiver running down his spine. Was there any proper way to answer this? He was here to offer his body in exchange for money. It was a shame, but dignity meant nothing if he couldn’t save Aera. 

“My sister,” Jongin said. “I need to save her.”

It went surprisingly easy after his response. Vincent asked about Aera’s conditions, talked about the top-of-the-field doctors he knew, then gave Jongin an address. That night, Jongin showed up in a penthouse a few blocks away from the tea shop and let Vincent fuck him until they collapsed on the cooling, moisture-wicking foam mattress. He came again the next day, and the day after that. Two weeks later, Jongin moved into a suburban-style mansion in Pyeongchang-dong, and Aera was transferred to the VIP unit of Hanwa Medical Center, a property co-owned by VGM. 

Vincent never tells Jongin why he picked him to sleep with when there are so many better choices out there. Jongin keeps an appropriate boundary; minding his own business and doing what Vincent asks him to. Vincent makes it clear from the beginning that they are purely a physical relationship. Exclusivity doesn’t exist, and Jongin isn’t allowed to stick his nose into where he doesn’t belong. What happens between them will stay between them. In return, Vincent agrees to let Jongin keep his accountant job, though he had to switch to freelance, and guarantees that Aera will receive the best available treatments. 

It’s a nice arrangement. Vincent can be wild and reckless in bed, but nothing Jongin can’t control. He treats Jongin with respect to a sufficient degree. He doesn’t look down on Jongin. In fact, he rarely acts superior. Jongin has seen him drinking convenience store coffee with his employees and interns on many occasions. He’s a man with decency. 

Vincent’s hands are not clean, but it’s the same for others in the business. Vincent has connections with many people; he frequently hangs out with high-ranking officials and those impeccable men in suits that reek of expensive wine and gunpowder. Jongin doesn’t know what Vincent _does_ exactly; he just knows that the guy is much more than just a Forbes 500 conglomerate. The midnight gatherings, the trips to Tokyo or Beijing or any Asian country in Vincent’s private jet, the countless dinner banquets that sometimes Jongin tags along, the insanely high-tech, state-of-the-art integrated security system at the mansion, the elite bodyguard team. Vincent is no ordinary businessman, yet to Jongin, he’s just a warm body with benefits, no more, no less, so there’s no reason for him to dive deeper into what isn’t his story to tell.

Sometimes, pretending is the right thing.

*

The well-lit hallway to the VIP unit is quiet. The pristine marble tile leads onwards passed elegant doorways edged in the finest handcrafted materials. Jongin stops in front of Room 501, eyes casting down to the bouquet of daisy in his hands. He inhales a lungful of breath in an attempt to calm down before he walks in. It’s been nearly a year, but the sight of Aera in a hospital gown still brings him to the verge of tears every single time. It hurts to see, hurts even more to think about the road ahead. 

The smell of antiseptic and metallic tang from stainless steel makes Jongin dizzy. His vision blurs and he sways on his feet, almost dropping the flowers if Sehun doesn’t catch him by putting an arm around his waist. Sehun’s scent is soothing, and Jongin relishes in the momentary warmth radiated from his bodyguard. Then just as quickly as when he steps over to help, Sehun moves away and opens the door for Jongin. He’s a good professional.

Aera is sleeping on her bed. She’s getting thinner, and so is her hair when Jongin touches it. A movie plays quietly on the TV in the corner, a distraction that might help keep her mind off the stitches and scars on her arm. At least that’s what Jongin hopes. It takes half an hour before Aera wakes up. Her dark brown eyes that Jongin used to compare with the brightest stars in the night sky in his middle school literature assignment now dim with exhaustion. She rests her head against the pillow as Jongin tells her random stories about their childhood, her favorite ice cream parlor, their neighbor’s poodle they often played with, the first meal he cooked for her. They listen to a song together, and when Jongin reminisces about how obsessed she was with the song back then, a smile tugs at her cracked lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Lunch time is always the worst. Ever since her chemo starts, she’s been experiencing loss of appetite. It’s a struggle to get her to eat the smallest amount of food. There’s only one nurse in Hanwa that could make Aera eat, unfortunately, she’s on leave today.

“Noona, just one spoon, please,” Jongin pleads. He’s tried all ways he could think of, but his sister is so stubborn. “Then I’ll take you downtown, how does it sound?”

Aera shakes her head. “I’m not going to eat. And don’t say things you can’t promise. The doctor says I have to stay inside for a long time. I may as well die here.”

 _Die_. A painful surge starts in Jongin’s heart. “Don’t,” he tries to keep his voice steady. “You’re not going to die.”

“It’s easy to say when you’re not the one bound to a hospital bed.”

Jongin hates where this conversation is going. It’s an endless cycle. The accident has changed Aera physically and emotionally, and Jongin knows he has to be patient, but sometimes it’s just so hard. He’s doing everything he could, he even becomes a sugar baby to keep her alive, yet she keeps talking about leaving this world, leaving him behind.

“Noona.” He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until slender fingers circle his wrist, taking the bowl of soup from his grasp. “Hey.”

Sehun is looking at him with an unreadable expression. His touch is gentle, as always. “Hey,” he repeats, louder this time. “Let me take care of this.”

“What?” Jongin asks, stupefied. 

“She doesn’t seem like she wants you to feed her,” Sehun says bluntly. Jongin swallows past a lump in his throat, but Sehun is right. Aera is already laying down again, back facing Jongin. “And you need a break.”

“Okay,” Jongin says. “I’ll just,” he motions to the lounge area with plush seating and a convertible sofa bed, “drink some tea over there. Do you want me to get the nutritional shake from the fridge? Since she’s not touching the soup—”

“I told you I’d take care of it,” Sehun says. “Just go.”

Jongin goes to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, washing away unshed tears. He flops onto the sofa and tries to take a quick nap, but he couldn’t. Staying close to Aera brings back all the memories, and now Jongin feels useless and guilty. He shouldn’t have gotten angry. She’s in more pain than he could ever imagine. Determined to apologize, he crosses the lounge to get to her bed, and the scene in front of him makes him drop his jaw in surprise. 

Sehun is feeding the soup to Aera. He rubs the teaspoon gently on her lower lip, and she slowly opens her mouth. Jongin watches as she carefully swallows. The up and down movement of her throat indicates she’s eating and not just pocketing the food in her cheeks. She says something. Sehun laughs. And his laugh is just like him, beautiful and genuine. When he laughs, he makes you want to make him laugh again and again so that carefree sound of happiness rings in your ears like music. Jongin doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching Aera and Sehun interact, her tired eyes brighten up, all focusing on him whenever he talks to her. Eventually, Sehun holds up a thumb and puts the now empty bowl aside. He waits for her to drink a sip of water, then stands up to adjust the bed to a lower angle. 

Aera catches Jongin staring, and lifts up a bandaged arm to motion him to come closer. Sehun gives him a small smile over his shoulder. “Jongin will be here with you, okay?” He grins at Aera. “Tell him how you kicked that big kid’s ass in high school.”

It was not a true story. Some days, Aera will wake up with false memories, created from tiny fragments of what actually happened. The hospital states they need to run more tests to determine the cause, but Jongin requests to delay it at least until she completes the first phase of chemo. 

Aera starts talking, sheer excitement evident in her small voice. Sehun squeezes his shoulder subtly before making his exit. 

“How did you do that?” Jongin asks when they’re driving back. “What did you tell noona?”

Sehun’s eyes stay on the heavy traffic ahead. “I just let her talk. The sitting position is important. She can’t tolerate sitting at a strict 90 degree angle, so a 75 to 85 degree angle would be the best. Tell her to tuck her chin downward, don’t do it for her. She knows what’s comfortable for her.”

Jongin blinks. “You sound like a medical expert.”

“I used to volunteer at a nursing home,” Sehun says. He pauses for a moment, pondering his next words. “It’s not my place to say, but I get why you want her to remember. It’s terrifying to see someone you love forget about you and everything you two have been through. But...don’t take it too hard. It’s been difficult for her too. Sometimes, just let her guide you instead of guiding her. Encourage her to talk about whatever she wants, you know? In the worst case scenario that she couldn’t fully regain all the memories, at least she could enjoy the present with you. That’s also important.”

It’s the longest Jongin’s heard Sehun talk since he knew him, and it’s what Jongin needs the most. He isn’t aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks until a drop lands on his palm. Unlike the tears of frustration in the hospital earlier, this time, Jongin can feel the relief running through him. 

In the driver’s seat, Sehun turns on the radio and keeps his head straight to give Jongin the much-needed privacy. Jongin is so lucky to have someone thoughtful like Sehun by his side. Sehun is a man of actions rather than words, who never fails to be in the right place at the right time to protect Jongin. 

“Aera noona wants to go to Everland and see the light festival next month,” Jongin says. “Sehun, you should come with us.”

“I’m your bodyguard,” Sehun replies. 

“No, I mean _go_ with us. Don’t just drive us there. Spend the day with us.” The next words are supposed to be a harmless joke to lighten the atmosphere. “She likes you. We could buy the family package. We look like one.”

The car screeches to a halt. Jongin blinks. “Sehun, what’s wrong—”

“Don’t,” Sehun cuts him off. “Please don’t say things like that again. You’re my employer.”

Sehun’s voice is low and serious. He doesn’t turn around, nor does he let Jongin see his expression through the rearview mirror. The air suddenly becomes suffocating, with Jongin feeling lost and confused, and Sehun putting up walls around himself like he was a sacred kingdom. Did Jongin say anything wrong? Did he trigger a bad incident Sehun wanted to forget? 

“Sehun, I’m sorry if I—”

“It’s not your fault,” Sehun says with finality. “I shouldn’t have overstepped the boundary.”

Except that it’s totally Jongin’s fault, but Sehun has put him on a defenseless stance. The car starts moving again. Sehun increases the radio volume, puts on his sunglasses, and doesn’t say a word for the rest of the ride. 

*

“Where does Sehun come from?”

Vincent barely lifts a brow. “What kind of question is that?”

The steakhouse they’re at is the textbook definition of sumptuous with golden upholstered chairs and emerald green velvet draping. “I’m curious,” Jongin takes a small bite of the dry-aged rib-eye. “And I can never be too careful when everyone knows I’m your boy.”

Vincent leans back in his chair and flashes Jongin a smirk. “He’s clean. A Seoul native. He had his rebellious phase, but don’t we all?” He taps his wine glass against Jongin’s. “I take care of my people well, honey.”

 _Don’t ever question my choice_ is the real message. Jongin nods, the wine tastes crisp on his tongue.

“Did something happen between you two?” Vincent asks. “Sehun is the best guard I’ve seen in years. I’d never want to replace him, but it’s not fair for you if you feel unsafe around him.”

Funny how Vincent could say this with a neutral face and a disturbingly calm voice when he’s the one holding secret meetings in his properties all around South Korea. He has some habits that Jongin believes he is unaware of, like wearing his blue shirt, the one that matches the color of his eyes, or drinking coffee with full cream milk on days when major news breaks. An unexpected drop in gold price. A chainwide going-out-of-business sale. An insider article exposing the scandals of a rival company. A nationwide investigation on certain political figures. It didn't take long for Jongin to pick up the fact that Vincent may be more dangerous than all the rumors about him circulating on the deep web. 

“Nothing happened,” Jongin says. He runs his fingers down Vincent’s thighs under the table in a way that makes the older man quiver in anticipation, because the quickest way to trick Vincent into believing a lie is to distract him. “Let’s finish dinner. There’s still dessert.”

*

Sehun isn’t _talking_ to him, which infuriates Jongin to no end. He’s still a model employee, driving Jongin to wherever he requests and doing everything in his capacity to keep Jongin safe. He cares, he cares a fucking lot. He keeps Marezine and Jongin’s favorite chewing gum in the car because he knows Jongin gets carsick easily when stuck in traffic. He never leaves Jongin out of his sight and doesn’t forget to remind Jongin about his wallet and his phone. But that’s the only thing he talks about. It feels like a door has closed, and Jongin is just standing there on the doorstep, clueless, sad and pitiful. Jongin loathes it when people distance from him without giving any reason. He loathes it even more when the _people_ in question is Sehun, who has become more important to him than he ever expected.

There’s only so much he can do, though. Vincent is the priority. As much as he wants to confront Sehun the way he sees on movies — asking him to come to a rooftop, pushing him against the railing and watching the night skyline through Sehun’s eyes — it’s Vincent who pulls him back to reality, with kisses that bruise and bites that hurt. 

It’s another private dinner at a rustic French style provincial home, owned by one of Vincent’s longtime friends, a Japanese guy named Shinji who speaks in Tokyo dialect. The dinner is boring, filled with conversations about things Jongin doesn't give damn about. These people, celebrities, businessmen, politicians, are from a whole different class. A world that has no place for Jongin. Vincent barely pays attention to him — in the public eye, Jongin is merely a trophy for him to show off. He’s busy attending to his friends, shaking hands and making small talks. Jongin recognizes a guy in a grey suit as the Minister of Economy and Finance, a lady in red whose face Jongin’s seen countless times on billboards and magazine covers, and other famous but unfamiliar faces. 

The night gets wilder as time passes. There's a lot of alcohol, and guests getting drunk all over the place. Vincent has disappeared after dessert, and Jongin wouldn’t be surprised if he emerges later with hickey on his chest or lipstick smeared all over his shirt. It’s not the first time, and it’s not going to be the last. There’s nothing for Jongin to do, he’s walking around aimlessly when a guy approaches him to show him three lines of nose candy and that’s when Jongin decides to head straight to the mini bar and drinks. The bartender has a horrible sense of humor, but she makes tasty drinks and chases away those druggies, so Jongin tolerates her bad jokes until Vincent comes to fetch him, a pretty blonde woman clinging to his side and Sehun follows them right behind.

Vincent passes out the moment Sehun helps him get into the car. Jongin wants to claim the front seat, but Sehun already presses a hand against his back, the little touch kicks the nerves up his chest and he’s overwhelmed with the urge to be held in Sehun’s arms, to feel Sehun’s warmth caress his skin for every day in this lifetime. 

“Sehun, Sehun,” he murmurs. There’s a pause before the door slams shut, during which Sehun’s hand lingers on his waist. 

It turns out that Vincent’d ordered Sehun to take the blonde woman home. She mutters something incoherent when Sehun asks for the address. Her voice is too slutty for Jongin’s liking, but Sehun is patient. He speaks to her politely, using honorifics and asking for her permission to use the GPS on her phone. 

“Sehun,” Jongin calls. He misses the sound of Sehun’s name on his tongue. The familiarity gives him peace. “Sehun,” he slurs, “my head hurts.”

Vincent is sleeping like a sloth next to Jongin. Today must have been a very special occasion, Jongin’s intoxicated mind registers, since Vincent rarely gets smashed like this. He wonders what crime they are planning and shudders at his own imagination. 

“I have to drop off Miss Irene first,” Sehun says. “Her house is around the corner.” Jongin has no sense of direction now. “Do you want some painkillers?”

Jongin’s head is spinning like a carousel. “Yes, please.”

“Alright, hang on there,” Sehun says. A few moments later, the door opens and Sehun slides in next to him, bringing a bottle of water to his dry lips. Sehun’s eyes are dark and captivating, and damn, Jongin likes him so much. Why is he not talking to Jongin?

He hates how his voice quivers when he brings an arm to cover his face. “Sehun, why are you mad at me?”

He hears Sehun sigh softly. “I’m not mad at you.” He removes Jongin’s arm and looks at him with the very same gentle expression he wore in Aera’s hospital room last week. “Try to get some rest. I’ll take you home soon.”

*

The painkiller makes Jongin feel better. His legs feel heavy as if they were tied to a giant rock, but the throbbing ache in his head has somewhat subsided and he can open his eyes without feeling nauseous. They’re driving through a new neighborhood. Jongin has never been in this area before, but he guesses it’s just another Beverly Hills of South Korea, with Rolls-Royce, Tesla and Porsche parked outside gated residential houses. He’s gazing out of the tinted window when he spots an elegant pastel-color home. There’s a flower garland on the vintage door. A huge cookbook model stands in front of the entrance. The place looks like it comes straight out of a fairytale dream. Jongin stares.

Sehun frowns at him. “What’s wrong?”

“This coffee shop is so cute,” Jongin says. He loves wandering around Seoul with his film camera and discovers hidden gems like this dreamy little house. “I used to spend my weekends exploring local coffee shops. When I was in college. It was exciting, like embarking on a quest hunting for the best photo opp? And each place is so unique.” 

His fuzzy mind thinks of books, flowers, black and white furniture. “My friend and I usually played a game. Before we stepped in a place, we’d make a guess about each other’s order. Different vibes got you in different moods. We kept counts, and every month the one who lost had to cook a homemade meal for the winner.” 

Sehun hums. “That sounded fun. You should do that again. With your friend.”

“He’s not here anymore. He went to the states with his family just a few days before our graduation ceremony. We couldn’t take a photo together.” Last he heard, Wonshik had started his residency at NYU Langone Medical Center. “Well, I don’t think we could do it the way we used to.” _Know who you are and who I am_ , Vincent usually tells him. “I—”

“Hmm?”

Jongin decides this really isn’t the time to pity himself. “Nothing,” he changes the topic. “I should visit this coffee shop one day. Is that matcha cake on the sign? I’d definitely order—”

“Chocolate mud cake and vanilla latte with 2% milk.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” The same word. “These are the signatures here.”

It’s not common for a drink with skim milk to become a signature, but Sehun is talking to him again and it’s all that matters. “I didn’t know you liked coffee,” Jongin smiles, a real one in a whole week. “You seem like a tea type of guy.”

“I like milk tea,” Sehun says nonchalantly, and their conversation continues until they arrive at the mansion. Jongin’s legs still weigh a ton, but when Sehun tucks a hand underneath his legs to lift him up and says, “Jongin, let’s get you to sleep”, he feels like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders.

*

Behind the cracked white door laid a long table under red light bulbs. A figure was sitting at the left end with their back facing the entrance. There were nine sets of tableware, yet it looked like no one’d ever set foot in the room except the mysterious figure and Jongin.

The light flashed to an ominous blue. A man’s voice that sounded like a broken record.

“Be brave.”

Suddenly, Jongin was walking down a long corridor. The only sound he could hear was his own footsteps. _Click. Clack. Click. Clack_. Jongin stopped and looked at a framed painting on the wall. A mirror. A painting of a mirror using several shades of colors, which as well could have been drawn by a six-year-old. 

He stopped before the glass door that blocked the end of the hall. He could see the courtyard, soaked in orange sun rays. And Sehun. Jongin gulped. Sehun’s hair was short. He was sitting on a bench near the fountain, flipping through a book, and he had his headphones on. Jongin called for him, but he couldn’t reach Sehun. 

Then all lights went out, drowning Jongin in darkness. The voice earlier returned, now a whisper millimeters away from Jongin’s ear.

“Have courage.”

When the lights came back, Jongin was sitting in a bathtub. Mismatched towels everywhere. Rose petals scattered on the wet floor. An alarm went off. Jongin did a quick visual scan of the room, and his eyes stopped at the mirror on the top of the closed toilet. It was when he realized his hair was soaked in blood. So were his arms, his neck, the front of his shirt. 

He didn’t know how, but he knew that was not his blood.

He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

*

The incessant electrical buzz intensifies and dies down abruptly. The creeping sensation on the back of Jongin’s neck vanishes. Jongin tentatively opens his eyes to find himself staring up at the Mayda chandelier, Vincent’s favorite expensive-but-useless piece of furniture. It’s a dream. Jongin turns to the nightstand. 3:17 AM. Vincent is snoring, oblivious to Jongin’s nightmare.

_Have courage. Be brave._

But the voice was so real. Like someone was trying to send Jongin a message. And the stench of death that overwhelmed his senses. Jongin couldn’t go back to sleep. He makes himself throw up the remaining alcohol in his system and finishes a bottle of vitamin water. It doesn’t help. So he gets out of bed and does the only thing he could think of. 

Going to Sehun.

It’s risky. They never _meet_ when Vincent is in the mansion. Good thing Jongin has been to enough places with Vincent to read the signs. Based on the way he didn’t move an inch when Jongin threw up for half an hour in the bathroom, dropped a glass, and accidentally kicked his foot as he climbed back under the comforter, Jongin is sure Vincent would be out at least until the afternoon. He leaves his slipper in the bedroom and chooses a route to avoid security cameras.

Sehun is in a faded grey T-shirt and sweatpants when he opens the door. “Jongin?” He sounds surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Jongin has so many questions. Who was the man? Did he have any connection with Sehun? What did those words mean? It doesn’t feel like a simple dream. It feels like his brain is conversing with him about something. Something beyond his reach. 

“Jongin?” Sehun’s hand is on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jongin croaks out. He must’ve drunk too much. “I’m just...I can’t sleep.”

Sehun swallows audibly. “Mr. Lee is here, Jongin.”

He doesn’t reject Jongin’s advance, which means he misses it as much as Jongin does. Jongin’s heart thunders in his chest at this realization. God, he wants to feel Sehun’s touch, and he wants it right now. 

“He won’t know if we leave no trace behind,” Jongin steps closer, warm puff fanning over his bodyguard’s face. “I need you, Sehun.”

*

Jongin takes off Sehun’s T-shirt the moment he hears the door click shut, desperate to splay his hand across Sehun’s skin, desperate to feel Sehun real and alive beneath his fingertips. He climbs onto Sehun’s lap, fingers tangled in long, black curls as he presses kisses on his nice collarbones. Sehun’s collarbones are beautiful, just like everything about him. Sehun groans when Jongin bites down, leaving visible teeth marks. 

“You’re so needy tonight, aren’t you?”

“I miss you,” Jongin breathes out. He sucks another mark into Sehun’s shoulder blade, and Sehun responds by dabbing the tip of his tongue over one of Jongin’s nipples. A shudder shoots up Jongin’s entire body. Jesus Christ. His nipples aren’t anything special. A drop in temperature could make them more perky than usual, but they’re not his weak spot. Not at all.

That sounds like a feeble declaration when Sehun circles his areola with large strokes. Jongin feels Sehun’s grin on his jaw, pleased with how easily he could tear a moan out of him. He stares at Sehun, speechless, trying his best to not surrender to the inviting wet, teasing lick over the areola. “Fuck.”

“I’m not going to do that to you tonight,” Sehun purrs, but he looks more like a panther than a cat. “You’re sensitive here.” 

His tongue makes its way down Jongin’s stomach while both his hands move up to pinch Jongin’s nipples at the root, then begin rolling them between his thumb and index finger. He starts with feather-light touch, and increases the pressure until the nubs red and erected. A rush of sensation ripples through Jongin’s body. He arches his back and grips at Sehun’s hip with strained knuckles. Sehun lets his left hand wander to massage the inner of Jongin’s thighs and bends down to breath hot air over one nipple, the one that he isn’t squeezing and pinching. Then he latches his mouth onto it, alternates between flicking with the tip of his tongue and using the flat of it to slowly cover more surface.

Jongin feels like he’s on fire as he gives in to the pleasure pulsing through his cock. His nipples are aching in the best possible way, with Sehun sweeping one up and down using his entire palm while drawing one between his lips, sucking gently. The muscles in Jongin’s stomach are flexing, he’s on edge, rasping out pathetic moans between shattered breaths, but Sehun doesn’t slow down. He flutters his eyelashes at Jongin, clearly taking amusement out of the whole thing.

Jongin whines in his throat, allowing Sehun to pinch, suck and nibble harder than before, until Jongin is reduced to a panting mess, begging Sehun to let him come.

“You will,” Sehun assures him, refusing to let go of the tight grip at the base of Jongin’s cock. He licks and touches, his mouth pulling and teasing until Jongin reaches the point where he couldn’t fight the wave coming, so he rides it all the way until he crashes, coming so hard despite the grip, coming so intensely that his whole body vibrates.

He’s sure he looks like a bothered mess in his post-orgasm state, but Sehun gazes up at him with half-lidded eyes as if he were watching a wonder of the world. As they lie down next to each other, Jongin thinks that going to Sehun feels like coming home.

There’s an invisible splinter at the back of Jongin’s head that tells him what started as fun has now gone way too far. Like a one-way ticket straight to the top. No stop on the way.

*

There’s no suspicious result about “ _Have courage_ ” and “ _Be brave_ ”. Jongin digs up every keyword, every search, follows the deep web, reads through all articles shown up in Google books. Nothing. Zinc. Seems like they are exactly what they are, common motivational words that could be found anywhere, from convocation speech and self-help blog posts to daily conversations. 

It’s not a code for some illegal business Vincent is involved with either, because he just yawns in boredom when Jongin mentions the phrases during their post-orgasm euphoria, the only time Vincent lets his guard down. “Courage for what?” He drawls. “You gonna join a competition or something?”

Yet he keeps hearing the words in his head. When he drinks his morning latte. When he works on his Excel sheet. When he goes grocery shopping. Like a seed had been planted in his brain, and he has no idea what it will grow into. 

Vincent tells him he’s overthinking. “It’s just a basic combination of words. A kid can say it. What makes you so obsessed?”

“What if it’s something bigger?” Jongin snaps. He’s been stressed out, losing sleep over a dream. His new client is a bitch, and Vincent is always seen with whom he calls Yui-chan, a Japanese woman in her early thirties who never takes off her sunglasses in public and has an unhealthy addiction to Gucci. Jongin doesn’t love Vincent, but he loves the attention. He’s just in a really weird headspace, with many things going on at once and he doesn’t know how to deal with them. “Like, underground business? The shady ones you’re usually off to?”

Tension rises in the air and suddenly Vincent is in his personal space, grabbing his jaw harshly, fingernails digging into thin flesh. “Calm down, honey.” His tone is sickeningly sweet, a polar opposite of his ruthless action. Jongin could feel a scratch formed beneath his chin, drawing fresh drops of blood. “What do I tell you about my business?”

He tightens his grip around Jongin’s neck. “Don’t - don’t talk about it,” Jongin repeats Vincent’s words from months ago when they had sex for the first time. A trial, but the rules are authentic. “Mind - mind my own business.”

“Good boy,” Vincent smiles. “Don’t let me repeat the question again. Is it clear, sugar cube?”

“Y-yes.”

Grinning, Vincent drops his hand, watching with disinterest as Jongin coughs, trying to gain back his normal breathing. “I’m leaving for Shanghai tomorrow. I’ll be back in two weeks.” He adjusts his Rolex watch, diamonds glinting under the fluorescent light. “Be ready when I call, alright?”

Jongin nods, lips pressed into a thin line. 

Not even an hour after Vincent’s private jet takes off, Jongin finds himself outside Sehun’s room. He grabs Sehun’s wrist and places it against his lips. It doesn’t take long before Sehun pushes him onto the bed and crawls on top of him, running his finger over the scratch that Vincent left, painfully slowly like he’s worried Jongin may break.

“Hey,” Sehun whispers and Jongin’d laugh if he isn’t busy writhing and gasping in pleasure. Sehun keeps asking every time, even when Jongin’s answer is a constant _yes_. The tip of his gorgeous cock nudges at his rim. “Are you ready?”

For Sehun, Jongin is always ready.

*

Somewhere along the line, there’s a phantom ache in his heart when he leaves Sehun’s room, or when he watches Sehun leave. Sehun doesn’t leave when Jongin is still awake, so Jongin pretends to shut his eyes, and Sehun pretends he doesn’t know Jongin is pretending. That’s all they could let themselves have. 

When Jongin was fifteen, he watched a movie with Aera. The opening scene was a wedding, then the story took the audience back to a high school rooftop, where the main characters met for the first time. He was a delinquent, she was a traditional girl. First love, young and full of hope. Life tore them apart, brought them together, only to reveal at the end that the wedding wasn’t theirs. The guy was getting married to someone else, and the girl watched from the guest table. In the end credits, there was a line, _“Sometimes you meet the right person. It’s just the wrong time. I hope you will always be happy.”_

It’s cliché. Feelings are a luxury Jongin couldn’t afford at the moment. He’s not planning to earn a living by being a lover boy, a sugar baby, whatever it’s called, forever. But he has no control. The hospital bills aren’t free. Jongin remembers his 5-year plan he wrote in college: buy a house for Aera, study for a second degree in Education, join a ballet studio, adopt a dog, and get his Master’s by the age of 30. Now that plan is floating in a faraway land, leaving Jongin in the bitter reality with a variable he didn’t plan for: love.

He likes Sehun. He may be able to lie to himself, but his body will tell the truth. The way he tries every possible way to make Sehun kiss him (he has yet to succeed), the way he goes pliant under Sehun, longing for the scent of baby powder and fresh laundry. The way he doesn’t think of anything if Sehun is with him, just relishing in the pure joy of being held, of seeing sharp brows and soft lips. The way sex with Sehun makes him feel so complete and shattered at the same time. It’s a sign that he’s craving for more, and that _more_ doesn’t enclose anything sex related. 

He’s aware he’s in no position to dream about happy endings, but the heart can’t deny what it wants. It wants to feel belonged. And it wants to kiss Sehun so, so bad. 

“Why don’t you let me kiss you?”

“I do let you kiss me. And vice versa.” Sehun pulls Jongin flush against his chest and places a quick kiss on Jongin’s forehead. “See?”

“Not on my forehead,” Jongin sighs. “On my lips. It’s the same, isn’t it?”

“No,” Sehun says firmly. “No lips. We agree on that.”

“Fine, but at least tell me why.”

Sehun shifts, the silk fabric of the blanket sliding over his bare torso. “Just reasons.”

Jongin rolls his eyes. He’s not getting anything out of Sehun anytime soon.

*

“If I bit my lip, would you kiss it better?”

Sehun looks up from his book, French For Beginners. Well. _Tu es mon rayon de soleil, embrasse-moi_. “Pardon?”

Jongin repeats what he said.

Sehun stares at him blankly, and then he pulls a jar of Vaseline out of his pocket. “Here,” he offers. “It helps with the healing process.”

The most annoying thing about that whole kiss-me-please fiasco is that Jongin knows Sehun wants him too. Last week, Sehun pushed a gun barrel into a reporter’s mouth because she kept shoving the camera into Jongin’s face. When Jongin goes out, with Vincent or not, he could feel Sehun’s eyes bore onto him like a shield protecting him against any harm in the world. Then comes the exclusive aftercare, with cuddles, back and leg massage, plus a glass of Jongin’s favorite grain milk. Or that time he stayed up all night taking care of a sick Jongin when Vincent was out of town (even if Vincent were there, he wouldn’t have lifted a finger). Sehun must have a good damn reason to hide from Jongin, but as the night comes, Jongin is certain that it’s still him that Sehun sees even when he closes his eyes. 

But they’re already walking a tightrope, in a territory that isn't theirs. Jongin can’t let his own desire trump and hurt Sehun. Vincent doesn’t like to lose his toy. 

One day, they’d be out of here. It’s not even a realistic hope, but Jongin needs something to hold on. He hopes Sehun still wants to settle down with him when that time comes.

It takes an accidental trip to UN Village, the cute, pastel-themed coffee shop that they once passed by on their way back home after the party at Shinji’s place, for Jongin to bring up the conversation. 

“How did you know?” Jongin puts his drink into the cup holder with more force than intended. “Why did you lie to me?”

Sehun turns around, hands still on the wheel. “I lied to you about what?”

“UN Village!” Jongin makes a gesture towards the pink paper cup with a cartoon corgi design at the front. “I came there today with Seulgi.”

Sehun’s voice lowers at the end of the sentence. “You went out without telling me?”

It’s a tone Jongin rarely hears from Sehun, authoritative, stern and scary. See, it’s a pattern: Sehun has distaste for showing affection, but he’s fucking territorial, consciously or not. He takes his job way too seriously, but there’s more than that. The person must be very important in order to revoke such a reaction. 

“That’s so not the point here,” Jongin leans back against his seat. “Why are you running away from us?”

“Jongin,” Sehun says, displeased. “Can we focus on what’s important here? You went off without telling me. You could’ve got hurt. How many times have I told you?”

“I’m not a fucking doll, Sehun. You know damn well that Seulgi has an army following her everywhere.” Seulgi’s billionaire brother is paranoid about assassination and overprotective of his little sister. He brings in the best guards around the world for the job. It’s him who introduces Sehun and his predecessor to Vincent. No way Sehun doesn’t know that. “And I’ll tell you what’s important. Us. Whatever we have between us. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same.”

Sehun’s voice softens. “I’m not talking about this with you, Jongin.”

“You told me the signatures were chocolate cake and vanilla latte.” Jongin says, ignoring the grimace on Sehun’s ever so pretty face. “Bullshit. They are the least popular. And shut up.” He holds up a finger. “I talked to the boss. So what I’m saying is true. You lied to me. You didn’t want me to know you were familiar with my favorite food and drink.”

Sehun doesn't say anything.

“And it’s not the only thing about me you’re familiar with, is it? The grain milk I like in the fridge, it’s you who bought it, not Vincent's assistant. It’s you who told the maids to use a specific brand of laundry detergent for my clothes because my skin is sensitive. You don’t go out of your scope of job for someone you don’t feel anything for, Sehun.”

“Jongin.”

“I know we can’t do a lot of...things at the moment.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, but he’s never been surer than now. “But I want the same thing. I’ll work harder and earn more money so I could—”

“Jongin.” Sehun calls again. When Jongin stares up, he feels something burn in his throat, and his skin feels too tight, because Sehun’s eyes are icy cold. Like the stars, he thought back to the imagery popped up in his head the first time he locked gaze with Sehun. Bright, beautiful, and too far away. “I have never thought about a future with you. I don’t know what made you think like that, but I’m sorry.”

*

The next couple of weeks are hell. Jongin and Sehun are no longer on speaking terms after the fight in the car. Jongin never expects their first fight would also be their biggest fight that puts a strain on their relationship, if there’s ever one to begin with. Sehun moves like he’d stop breathing if he gets out of his bodyguard persona, barely talking to Jongin, and Jongin limits his words to locations that he needs to visit or when Sehun should pick him up. 

Jongin stops cornering Sehun in empty bathroom stalls or showing up unannounced in front of his bedroom. Vincent is back in Seoul, this time he spends most days of the week in the mansion, so Jongin dutifully does what he’s here for, obeying Vincent’s requests to satisfy the man, be it being fucked raw or getting on four knees like a pathetic animal. 

Something in the air has shifted. It may be as simple as a bad week at work, but Vincent is different. He’s more demanding. Usually, sex with Vincent is quite simple. Sometimes Vincent gets off on Jongin calling him daddy, but nothing too wild beyond imagination. He tells Jongin that for him sex is a routine in life, like brushing your teeth, choosing what to eat for dinner, calling your mom, sleeping, all this daily, mundane stuff. Jongin sees no resemblance between calling his mom and pounding Jongin into the mattress, since he doesn’t look satiated whenever he finishes talking to his mom, but Jongin has no energy to argue. He leaves it at that.

At first, he pays no attention to the sudden change. Handcuffs around his wrists, nipple clamps until his nipples become a raw shade of red, calling him by humiliating names, making him beg, clothespin on the inner of his thighs, candle wax play, thick restraints that bite harshly into his skin. Jongin thinks Vincent just wants to be more adventurous, maybe trying out something he heard from his friends about their sexcapades. So he tolerates it. He wakes up with more pain than usual, often spending an hour in a cold bathtub to sooth the scratch and tear. And Vincent doesn’t spare him a glance. As soon as he reaches climax, he pulls out and tends to himself, ignoring a worn out Jongin with shaky thighs and bleeding lips, newly formed bruises all over smooth golden skin.

Jongin doesn’t notice how _bad_ it looks until Sehun locks the car door one day. They just return from a trip to the bookstore. Vincent’s blue Tesla is in the garage; he’s home earlier than he said. 

“Sehun, open the door.” It’s the first time he says Sehun’s name in, what, two weeks? Three? “What on earth are you doing?”

“He hurts you.” 

Jongin’s mind draws a blank. “Huh?”

“He hurts you.” Sehun repeats, clearer, louder. He grips the wheel so tightly, Jongin fears they’d have to pry his fingers off with a crowbar. “You’re limping. And you have new bruises.” Jongin instinctively places a hand over his chest. Sehun pauses, as if needing a moment to control his emotions. “Wounds.”

Truth is, knife play isn’t as arousing as seen in porn. Not when Vincent growled like a hungry wolf, ready to devour its prey. Not when he pressed the blade too hard that Jongin had to kick him in the shin. “I,” Jongin begins, but finds himself at a loss for words.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Sehun’s voice is steady, but the fresh swell of anger rising behind it makes Jongin shiver despite the fervent heat outside. When he doesn’t get an answer, he hisses. “Why?”

Jongin feels the will to fight bleed out of him. It’s the effect Sehun has on him, peeling him off until there’s nothing left but vulnerability and insecurity. The realest part of him. “It’s no big deal. He’s just...stressed out. I can handle it.”

“He has no reason to take it out on you,” Sehun turns to look at him in the eyes, and the flicker of pain he sees almost chokes him. Sehun aches for him, Jongin isn’t sure if he deserves it. “He can’t. I’m—”

“You’re what?”

They hold their breath at the same time. Sehun is staring at him with a plethora of emotions behind his guarded eyes, and then it’s over too fast. “I’m taking you to the hospital tomorrow,” Sehun says. “Get ready at 8.”

Jongin thinks about brown eyes and a tiny cheek scar that night when Vincent picks up his whip with a new leather flogger. He thinks about warm fingers kneading his hair and forehead kisses when Vincent forces him through a second orgasm with rough, unstoppable thrusts.

*

Getting involved with a powerful man like Vincent is like walking around on eggshells with no clue about when the next storm will come. So Jongin sets a line from the beginning to keep his relationship with Vincent purely sexual. He chooses to be an outsider inside the house, doesn’t budge no matter how many times Vincent and his businessmen buddies try to coax him into managing their side business, which is just a sugar-coated way to make him a pawn. He stands his ground so that in the worst case scenario, like the FBI knocking on their door at midnight, he still has a way out because sleeping with a criminal is not a crime. A shame, yes, but not guilty.

Knowing it doesn’t mean it gets easier. Ruthlessness runs in Vincent’s blood, but not Jongin’s. Hearing him and his friends laugh about how they shake hands to eliminate someone’s business from the market because they simply don’t like the owner makes Jongin’s stomach lurch. Watching him sip on his hundred-year-old wine with a dangerous glint in his blue eyes as the news reporter talks about a missing person case or a traffic accident gives Jongin goosebumps. Jongin thinks he’ll never get used to any of it.

Today, Vincent is in a particularly sour mood. He returns at 5 PM, goes straight to his study and appoints a guard to stand outside the door. He doesn’t come out for dinner. Jongin doesn’t dare to invite Sehun to join him, so he sits by himself with a plate of spaghetti and idly flips through different channels when something catches his attention. A face. Hidden behind a mammoth pile of paperwork and a pair of glasses, yet Jongin recognizes him. The man in the grey suit at Shinji’s party. South Korea’s Minister of Economy and Finance, who is giving a brief interview about rumors on the internet that certain individuals in the Ministry of Economy and Finance are under investigation for distributing classified government information to unauthorized individuals or organizations. As expected, he denies the claim, mentioning something about the oath they all took about integrity and loyalty. 

It’s the small headline running at the bottom of the screen that sends a creeping sensation down Jongin’s neck. It reads, “ _Choi Jaeho, CEO of Liberty Insurance Group, dies in a plane crash_ ”. The weather was bad. There was a collision with a mountain. Four people were found dead at the scene, including Jaeho, his wife, and two crew members. 

Jongin remembers seeing Jaeho at a few gala dinners. He was friendly, often opted to greet his acquaintances with a hug rather than a handshake. He used to serve in the military before a personal incident forced him to retire early. He later started an insurance company with his cousins and lived an ordinary life in Itaewon with his wife and two children. This plane crash is an unfortunate accident.

Or maybe it’s not. Jongin also remembers pieces of theories he has read. That Jaeho never really quit. His retirement was a cover for a top-secret operation by the NIS to rat out the moles in the government, the ones that were sent in by the yakuza. Dread twists in Jongin’s stomach like a searing knife as he stares at the image results on his phone screen for Choi Eunji and Choi Jeonghoon. He recognizes the girl, Eunji. Three days ago, she was there, right where Jongin is sitting, eating ice cream and watching a cartoon with Vincent’s secretary. Vincent ushered him down the hallway before he could say hi, and when he asked who she was in the flash moment before Vincent put a blindfold on him, Vincent’d answered, “My friend’s daughter. Her parents were on a business trip and her nanny was busy today.”

Jongin whips his head around towards the deadly white door of Vincent’s study. The guard is standing like a statue. He hears his pulse beating fast in his ears, and imagines dark blue eyes seizing him from behind the door. Terror sucks the very breath from his mouth. Choi Eunji’s parents didn’t voluntarily go on a business trip. They were forced to.

*

A cold wave floods his system as the hairs rise on the back of his neck and his mouth runs dry. Vincent tugs at his hair, sharp teeth sinking down to Jongin’s collarbones, and when he pulls Jongin down for a sloppy kiss, he tastes copper on his tongue. 

Vincent flips him over and slides his fingers in without warning. Jongin squirms, clenches his ass, but instead of pleasure, he feels scared. That’s all he’s been feeling, since Vincent exits his office, enters the bedroom and demands Jongin insert a plug into his own hole for a show. His cock is leaking with precome, yet he’s far from release. Saliva thickens in his throat and beads of sweat trickle down his temples as Vincent keeps pushing until his balls are pressed against Jongin’s ass. 

Suddenly, Vincent stops, and what Jongin hears next paralyzes him to the spot. 

The sound of a gun cocking. Then he feels it, the cold metal barrel pressing against the base of his skull. Vincent slides a hand underneath Jongin’s torso to twist a nipple. Fear overtakes Jongin like a hungry monster holding him captive. If he closes his eyes, he could visualize the plane crash. And the aggressive man with his cock lodged inside him now may be responsible for that. 

“Beg for it,” Vincent moves the barrel behind Jongin’s ear. “I want to hear you beg.” 

“P-please don’t,” Jongin cries out. He tugs desperately at his cock, but he couldn’t get it to full hardness, for the fear is freezing every muscle in his body. “Please don’t.”

The sight of his softened cock doesn’t go unnoticed. Vincent’s voice drops an octave lower. “Jongin,” he bares his teeth. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jongin whimpers. “Please, it’s not what you think.”

Vincent says nothing, then a hand grasps at his throat, squeezing the air out of him. Jongin digs his fingernails into Vincent’s wrist, but it’s useless. Color begins to drain from his face as his sight starts to close in on him. He could feel his consciousness slipping away, and he knows he couldn’t hold out much longer. 

So he screams. He doesn’t know if anything comes out at all, but he screams. The frantic pulse of his heart has blocked out all other sounds.

“Jongin!”

The door is kicked open. Vincent jerks away from him, dropping the gun to the floor. Jongin scrambles up, feeling his bones turn to jelly. At the door is Sehun, in his faded grey T-shirt, followed by Vincent’s bodyguard team, all with their guns ready to shoot.

It takes several minutes for Vincent to speak. He narrows his eyes at Sehun. “What are you guys doing here?”

Sehun doesn’t answer. Instead, he waits until another guard finishes scanning around the room and gives him a clear sign. “Jongin-ssi was screaming,” Sehun says monotonously. “I thought it was an emergency, sir.”

Vincent throws a glance at Jongin, who refuses to look up. “Well, clearly you’re mistaken.” He moves off the bed and puts on his pants. “You’re fast, but don’t forget to use your head next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can leave now,” Vincent says. “I’m going to finish some work. Seunghyun, can you stay on watch tonight? Just to make sure Jongin can sleep safe and sound.”

A tall guard with curly dark hair steps up. He intentionally avoids looking at Jongin, who’s still naked and trembling. “Yes, sir.”

Vincent crawls into bed at dawn. He hugs Jongin from behind and plants butterfly kisses down his neck, where a barrel had been a few hours earlier. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Jongin stays as still as possible. He thinks about seeing Sehun later to regulate his breath. “It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“Did you mean it?” The next words are merely a whisper, sending chills down Jongin’s spine. “When you screamed out Sehun’s name?”

“He’s my bodyguard,” Jongin ignores the tremble inside him. “Didn’t you tell me to call for him if I was in trouble?”

“Yeah,” Vincent says after a deafening silent pause. “You’re right.”


	2. Arrival

Friday is Jongin’s favorite day of the week because there’s no Vincent in the house. Vincent travels to Busan every Friday to visit VG’s subsidiaries over there — hospital, resort, hotel, school, car factory — and stays overnight in the presidential suite overseeing a scenic beach view. Since the dangerous incident on Tuesday, Jongin’s been looking forward to this particular Friday more than ever. 

Sehun’s been helping him since. Taking Jongin the way he desires, giving Jongin everything he asks for. On Wednesday afternoon, Sehun washed his hair for him and just cuddled him to sleep. On Thursday, Sehun made him see stars with his tongue inside Jongin, touching the right places and healing the intangible wounds. On Thursday late evening, he let Jongin ride him, let Jongin rake his uneven nails down his back, leaving kitten scratch marks as Jongin sunk down on him until he couldn’t get any fuller. 

When Friday comes, Jongin feels like walking on cloud nine. It’s also Sehun’s day off. Sehun usually takes his day off on Sunday, when Vincent’s bodyguard team assembles in full force, but Jongin’d persuaded him to switch to Friday this week. He wants to spend time with Sehun. Just Sehun, not bodyguard Sehun. A bodyguard has responsibilities: to protect their charge at all cost. A bodyguard must follow protocol. Maybe that’s why Sehun never kisses him. Jongin knows he’s just playing this deduction game by himself since Sehun resolutely refuses to talk about kissing, but nothing is impossible, right? Maybe the obligation to keep Jongin safe is so heavy that Sehun couldn’t manage to be distracted. If Jongin succeeds in taking that pressure off his shoulders, there’s a chance he would stop resisting and give Jongin what he wants tonight. A kiss.

So Jongin eagerly waits, with his ass all plugged up, waiting to be devoured. He sets up a fancy feast on the carpeted floor, with French wine, strawberry and cream, and Sehun’s favorite flowers - white roses and dark red carnations. 

Except Sehun is nowhere to be seen. Jongin tries calling him, but his calls go straight to voicemail. He goes from being ecstatic to worry sick and ends up cleaning up not just the fancy shit but the entire room. It’s a guest room, so there isn’t much stuff. When he finishes, he looks at his phone. _9:12 PM_. No call, no reply message. Frustrated, he slides the plug out, his hole clenching around nothing, and jerks himself off with a few half-hearted strokes. It feels like a procedure. 

He has no idea how long he has dozed off when he hears the door open. It’s Sehun. His hair is pushed back with a pair of glasses, and there’s no suit and tie, just a bomber jacket outside a casual white T-shirt. Jongin’s breath is stolen away regardless. It takes less than a second for Jongin to push Sehun against the wall, pressing his lips on the underside of Sehun’s jaw, twisting his hips until his cock slides against Sehun’s through their pants. 

“Sehun,” Jongin continues to lap his tongue at Sehun’s throat. Over the tips of his ears. At the hollow of his collarbones. Sehun lets him do as he pleases, a hand on his waist to steady them both. “Sehun-ah.”

Sehun responds by lifting Jongin up. Jongin wraps one arm around Sehun’s neck, while the other slips beneath Sehun’s T-shirt. Jongin maps through his favorite land with his fingertips, flicking his nipples playfully and grins when he sees Sehun clench his jaw. 

“Take me to bed,” Jongin whispers. 

By the time Jongin’s back hits the plush mattress, he’s shirtless. He can feel Sehun’s hardness inside his jeans, and can’t help but grind his own erection against his bodyguard’s clothed bulge. Sehun threads his fingers through Jongin’s hair, scratches lightly at his scalp as he arches into Jongin’s touch, good and pliant.

They spend the next few minutes making out, kissing, claiming each other’s feverish skin, teasing with slow but precise strokes. Jongin pants, face shiny with sweat as Sehun traces down his chest with his hot tongue. He squirms, then Sehun presses three fingers on Jongin’s lips, and Jongin sucks them in, swirling his own tongue around the long, thick digits. He feels Sehun’s mouth freeze over his belly button. 

Jongin pulls away with a lewd _pop_ , his bottom lip glinting with saliva. He reaches down to palm Sehun’s bulge, and in the most seductive tone, breathes out, “Tell me, Sehun. Let me give you what you want tonight.”

Sehun is quiet. Jongin rakes his hand up the man’s chest. “Don’t be shy, baby.”

He’s ready to be flipped over, face-first against the mattress. Or the floor. But nothing comes. Sehun gently pulls Jongin’s needy hand away, and before Jongin could react, crawls on top of him until they’re chest to chest, and then drops his head onto Jongin’s shoulder.

“Hold me,” Sehun’s voice cracks at the end. A tiny hairline crack in a plaster wall doesn’t cause any casualty; unfortunately Jongin’s heart is not made of gypsum plaster. His is the first coat, scratched but has yet to dry. “Jongin-ah, I just want you to hold me.”

It’s when a dam breaks, letting waves of unspoken emotions gush forth. Sehun sounds so small, so vulnerable, like he’s weighted down by a deep cut that won’t stop bleeding no matter how hard he tries. It’s when Jongin detects the smell of alcohol underneath Sehun’s thin T-shirt. 

Jongin tugs on Sehun’s hair, forcing his head back a little, but Sehun resists. He buries his face in the crook of Jongin’s neck, trying to suppress a shiver. He lets out a harsh breath, fingers ghosting on Jongin’s side. “Just hold me,” he says. “Jonginnie.”

The pet name sends Jongin’s heart to his throat, his hands are cold and clammy as adrenaline pumps through him. His stomach cramps, and he feels like throwing up. It hurts. Jongin doesn’t know why. It hurts when Sehun’s voice reaches him. Pain thunders down on him and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until Sehun stirs in his vice-like embrace and murmurs, “Hey, are you crying?”

“No,” Jongin swallows, despite the unmistakable wetness on his cheeks. He presses Sehun as close to him as possible and just holds him until he drifts off to sleep. The pain doesn’t subside with Sehun’s light snore or his pretty, peaceful sleeping face. 

Jongin is sober, but he thinks this might be what being drunk in love feels like.

The word _love_ is like acid on his tongue. He swallows it down before it burns bright and turns everything into ashes.

*

When Jongin opens his bleary eyes, it’s 10 AM on Saturday morning. Sehun isn’t there. The other side of the bed has been made.

When Jongin gets to the kitchen, Vincent is sitting at the dining table, eyes on his tablet. Sehun is standing at the end of the room, next to Vincent’s bodyguard. The air in the room is polished.

When Vincent pulls him in for a quick, possessive kiss, a familiar ache throbs inside him. The corner of his mouth quirks up involuntarily and those words that seem like a distant memory come back to his head.

 _Have courage_.

 _Be brave_.

Follow your heart.

*

Vincent calls Sehun to his study two weeks after the incident in which he advised Sehun to _“use his head.”_

“I’m flying to Shanghai the day after tomorrow.” 

“Yes, sir.” Sehun says respectfully. “I understand.”

When Vincent is out of the country with his bodyguards, Sehun will be in charge of the security in Seoul. He is strong, fast, smart and acknowledged by other guards. 

“That’s not all,” Vincent jams his hands in his front pockets and pulls out several papers. “Here. Take a look.”

Sehun looks down at the stack he takes from Vincent. Papers of various materials, all printed, no handwriting. His brows snap together as he realizes what they are. When he looks up, Vincent is playing absentmindedly with the cuff of his impeccable shirt, but his blue eyes are firmly on Sehun.

“When did you receive these, sir?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Vincent sighs softly. “I found them among my other packages. My mails are sent to the headquarter and sorted by my staff first before my secretary brings them to me, so I have no idea. No fingerprints. No stamp.”

“Sir, have you checked with the courier service? They can track their data back to the sender.”

Vincent cuts him off. “It’s too much work, Sehun. This isn't the first time I receive death threats. All bark, no bite, you know? I don’t need to pay attention to those pathetic rats.”

Sehun squares his shoulders. “What’s the order, sir?”

Vincent flashes him a ruthless smile, all teeth and no concern. “Keep an eye on Jongin. Call in other services if you need. I’ve been very, very busy lately.” He picks a piece of lint from his sleeve. “The last thing I need is a distraction. Don’t let anyone gain the upper hand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And one more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t let Jongin know about this.” Vincent holds a finger up to his lips. “That boy enjoys freedom too much for his own good.”

*

Jongin is growing restless.

 _Weird_ couldn’t come close to describe what's happening lately. First, his client, who’s been calling him at least twenty times a day to ask about the progress on his estate tax papers, suddenly leaves him a voice message telling him he’s in Murmansk, waiting to board his ship to the North Pole, where he’d be spending the next month on ice with no phone, no laptop. Basically, no work. So Jongin’s contract with him is temporarily put on hold. Then, the grocery store he often visits has to close down for a while because the owner fell off a ladder while fixing a light bulb. Next, a nurse at Hanwa Medical Center catches a strange flu, and the entire VIP unit is on lockdown. No visitors allowed, so Jongin can only talk to Aera via FaceTime. 

The most bizarre thing is the arrival of three giant Alaska dogs. Irene, the blondie from Shinji’s party, showed up at the mansion with her three giant _“puppies”_ , as she called them lovingly, a few days after Vincent boarded the jet to Shanghai with that Yui-chan woman and told a bewildered Jongin that she was giving Vincent back his custody. 

“Custody for what?” Jongin asked.

“Vincent and I used to date two years ago,” she waves a perfectly manicured hand at him. “These are our kids. I’ve raised them as a single mum since our break-up.”

Long story short, Irene would be leaving Seoul for a cruise trip with her friends and she didn’t trust her stepmother to take care of her dogs, so she decided to drop them off at their dad’s place. Long story short, Jongin ends up becoming a substitute dog dad. Short story sad, the three dogs immediately get attached to Jongin and never leave him alone. They follow him everywhere, to the garden, to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to bed. This takes a toll on his _business_ with Sehun. For ten days, the most action they get is a blowjob in the bathroom. 

Sehun is busy too. Overseeing the security at both the mansion and VG’s headquarter building in Gangnam keeps him up from early morning to late night. He has three phones that are on alert 24/7. And meetings. Analyzing potential risks, reviewing current arrangements, debriefing with the personal bodyguards of those executives in VG. He mostly stays to himself, makes his rounds. Even when his mouth is full of Jongin’s cock, Jongin still feels a wall separating them. A wall called duty.

But one positive thing, Jongin hopes, is that taking on the security team lead position during this particularly busy time of VG gives Sehun chances to meet new people. Clients of VG. Friends of the executives. Maybe they will get to know Sehun, see how good he is, offer him new opportunities, the ones that will free him from Vincent, and later, later on, maybe he and Jongin can start from there, when they both secure their freedom. 

Jongin hopes Sehun feels the same. 

*

Handling the client was easy. Vincent bought him off. The grocery store was an accident. The lockdown at Hanwa was complicated. Negotiations with doctors and nurses, paying for operation costs and all, but Sehun knows that amount of money did nothing to dent Vincent’s wealth. The dogs were a surprise. Sehun’d suspected Vincent, but the billionaire sounded shocked when Jongin told him over the phone. He sounded a little bit annoyed too, at the mention of Irene, but his voice turned soft as he called out the dogs’ names. 

Jongin doesn’t say anything, he’s either grooming the dogs or playing catch with them or giving them a bath because those little fur monsters love to play in the mud. But Sehun knows he’s growing restless. The addition of other one or two guards every time they leave the mansion is making him nervous. He smiles at Sehun understandingly when Sehun tells him it’s necessary for training, since Sehun may not be able to accompany Jongin 24/7 for the time being, though his shoulders go rigid, and if Sehun weren’t that invested in his charge, he’d have missed it. But he is very much invested. 

Unlike Sehun who displays honesty with words, Jongin communicates it through his face. He pouts when he passes by the big entertainment room, which Sehun uses as a meeting place to investigate the death threats with the team. He becomes more needy, demands to feel Sehun in his grasp every minute of their rendezvous. Hair pulling, biting, hugging, just something he can hold onto. He sighs a lot. Sehun feels bad, but he can’t sway from the main objective: Jongin’s safety. The number of guards is doubled. More cameras are installed. There are always at least three guards doing rounds within a five meter radius from the mansion. 

Sehun needs to pull through this time before he dares to think further about Jongin.

It’s another ordinary day. Jongin talks in pout when Sehun tells him that he must wait one more week before he could go see Aera. After breakfast, Jongin goes back to the guest room, which he’s converted into his temporary work space with a mini bookshelf and a desk, starts reading tax reports, the dogs lying on the floor by his feet. There’s nothing unusual, so Sehun reminds the on-duty guards of Jongin’s schedule, for the umpteenth time, and leaves to meet with the security team at VG headquarter. 

Four hours pass by like a breeze. They agree to cancel the Saturday conference, which means Sehun doesn’t need to come to the office for the second time this week. Maybe he could take time out of scanning every air molecule in the mansion to watch a movie with Jongin. He decides to ask Jongin about the genre; it’s his first time watching a movie in weeks and he will not tolerate a bad one.

But Jongin isn’t in the guest room. Or the bedroom. Or Vincent’s study. Or Sehun’s room.

He isn’t in the mansion when Sehun comes back.

Sehun is frightened down to the soles of his shoes when there’s no sight of the two guards appointed to take care of Jongin either. The place is intact. The dogs are running around in the garden, and the smallest among them, the only one with a reddish brown coat, whimpers at Sehun when Sehun doesn’t throw the ball for him to catch. The cameras capture nothing. No one enters or exits the mansion. It’s like Jongin just vanishes into thin air. Sehun sprints down the stairs, terror mounted in every step as he shouts frantically into his earpiece, “Code red!”

Sehun holds his phone in one hand when he drives the Phantom through the electric portcullis, dialing Jongin’s number. The line rings. And rings. But there’s no answer. 

Sixteen cars weave in and out of traffic around Seoul. It’s like a chase straight out of a Hollywood movie, with tires making monotonous hiss over the road, with throbbing ankles and heart pounding loudly. Sehun fights a rising panic as he makes a sudden U turn, the crescent moon above hidden behind black clouds.

The ringing stops. 

“Sehun?” It’s Jongin’s voice, cheerful and confused. “Where did everyone go? Why is the house empty?”

*

Jongin swears he has it planned out. The messed up numbers in one particular tax report gave him a headache, so he took a break. His initial plan was to order light snacks and watch some panda videos on YouTube, but then he came across a food review post on Instagram about Osaka ramen. Ten minutes later, he was begging the guards to drive him to his favorite ramen shop in Mapo. He showed them the travel plan: 40 minutes for a round trip, waiting time for the food is less than 15 minutes; therefore they could be back in one hour and a half maximum. It was doable, since Sehun wouldn’t return for another three hours. He put on his best puppy eyes, and when the shorter guard let out a defeated sigh, he knew he’d won.

He couldn’t predict a truck with a tire blowout on the highway that resulted in heavy traffic, or the customer in front of him placing to-go order for his extended family, 20 bowls of ramen. The shop is tucked in a corner, so there’s no cell service. The owners love it, they want their customers to fully enjoy their meals and talk to their friends without being distracted by technology. Normally Jongin would love it as well, but today he’s fueled by panic.

He knows he’s fucked up when he comes back to an empty mansion. There’s no car in the front yard. He flinches when his phone finally rings, and it’s Sehun. Okay, so Sehun thought something bad had happened to him and launched a city-wide search. Okay, this incident would definitely take over Naver by storm tonight. Jongin shrinks into the couch and makes himself as tiny as possible, reciting the apology speech in his head. He has no chance to utter a word because the moment Sehun dashes into the lounge, he grabs Jongin’s collar to yank him up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sehun is shouting, rage dripping from each syllable. “Do you know what you did? I called for a code red search, and you just picked up your phone and casually said hello?”

Shame and fear engulf Jongin. “I’m sorry, Sehun,” he tries. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. Please don’t blame them.” He looks over to the two guards, who are looking down at their feet. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to get us some ramen. I wanted to surprise you. I’m sorry.”

“I never ask you to do these stupid things,” Sehun growls. “Hundreds of people work their ass off to keep you safe, and you just want to ruin them all.”

Jongin’s face crumples. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess everything up.”

“This is not a joke, Kim,” Sehun spits. If he notices how the color drains out of Jongin’s cheeks when he calls him by his surname, he ignores it. “Stop acting like a spoiled brat. You’re putting your guards at risk with your irresponsible behaviors.”

“Don’t call me a brat,” Jongin’s expression hardens. He could let Sehun yell at him for as long as he wants, but comparing him to a brat is off limits. “Do you think the last few weeks have been easy for me? It’s like living in a goddamn cell. I can’t even laugh at some silly videos because one sound and those fucking alarms will go off and you guys will knock down my door.” 

“Don’t make this about you.” Sehun clenches his fists. He’s tired, from the dread gnawing his insides to the restless nights thinking about what potential threat may be waiting in the bush. “Don’t fucking make this about you. No one here has been able to get a good sleep lately because of that price on your head.”

Time freezes. Silence fills the tense atmosphere, and when Sehun realizes what he just said, Jongin is staring at him, eyes wide, legs trembling, face pale as if he’s going to be sick.

“There is a death threat?” His fear-stricken voice is barely audible, but it echoes in Sehun’s ear like a hammer. “Someone wants to kill me.” He chokes out a laugh, wet and humorless and it pulls at Sehun’s heartstring. “And none of you thinks it’s important to let _me_ know?”

Sehun lets go of Jongin’s collar and reaches for his hand, but Jongin jerks back. 

“It’s all in your plan, is it?” Jongin wraps his arms around himself, looking so broken. His eyes are shining with tears, his lips wobble as they move. “My client. The lockdown at the hospital. I hope you people didn’t go as low as hurting an old man just so you can play fucking heroes.”

Sehun shakes his head, helpless.

“Did Vincent promise you a gold medal? For saving his precious toy?” Jongin laughs mirthlessly, brushing by Sehun to head towards the guest room. “Not yet? Should I write a recommendation letter?”

“Jongin.”

“Don’t say my name,” Jongin snarls under his breath. “Leave me alone.”

*

Sehun enters Jongin’s room three hours later. The light is off. Sehun has to take a minute to adjust his vision. There’s a lump on the bed, under a comforter. 

“Jongin,” Sehun says softly. He knows Jongin isn’t sleeping, and the slight ruffle against the silk sheet confirms it. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

He has spent an hour trying to swallow the ramen Jongin bought for him because although he’s in no mood to eat, he needs the energy to stay alert. The noodles taste as good as he remembers. The broth, however, is too salty for his liking; Sehun guesses it’s what happens when you add in an unlimited amount of guilt. 

“I didn’t hide it from you because I wanted to play heroes. I wouldn’t have chosen this job had I wanted to be praised.” Sehun chooses to stand by the desk. He doesn’t want to intrude on Jongin's personal space when the latter is still angry. “I didn’t want to scare you. I’ll take care of this. I promise no one can hurt you when you’re on my watch.”

He pauses. Then repeats, “I’m sorry, Jongin. I really am.”

It feels like eternity before he hears a muffled groan. Then silence again. Then the words leave Jongin in a sigh. “If you want to apologize, come here and say it to my face.”

Sehun moves until he reaches the end of the bed. They’re still surrounded by darkness. Jongin makes no sign to flip the light switch, but he sits up. “I’m sorry too,” he says. “For sneaking out.”

“I’m not mad about that anymore.”

“You hurt your hand.” Sehun broke a glass with his bare hands when his calls didn’t reach Jongin. Having a glass in his car may not be a bright idea.

“It’s just a scratch. I took care of it.”

“Does it still hurt?”

It stings. It’s a fresh wound, and it’s still bleeding. But it’ll get better. Besides, Sehun’s pain threshold is high. A requirement for the position. “No.”

“You’re lying,” Jongin accuses, then he shifts to pull at the hem of Sehun’s shirt until Sehun is on the bed, a small distance between them. Jongin touches his wound lightly. “I’m really—”

“Stop apologizing,” Sehun scowls. “You know I’d die for you. All of us would.” It’s the risk that comes with this job. For Sehun, though, the reason is more than an occupational risk. 

Jongin lets out a shaky exhale. “I don’t want you to die for me. I want you to live for me.”

“Aera noona could’ve been a successful lawyer. But she gave up everything for me.” Jongin’s voice is teary. “Look at where that got her. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. I’m not afraid of death. Everyone has to die. If it’s my call, then I guess there’s nothing I can do. But you shouldn’t shoulder that burden. I’m sick of seeing people I love getting hurt because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sehun says automatically, then the last sentence finally sinks in. “What.”

“What?” Jongin sounds confused before he reevaluates what he just said. “Oh.” Another exhale. “Now you know.”

Sehun’s blood runs cold. “Jongin, please don’t.” He grips a handful of the silk sheet. “Not now.”

“God, I’m tired of this,” Jongin says, and the next thing Sehun knows is Jongin’s lips press against his mouth. Fingers rake through his hair, a solid knee on top of his thigh, keeping him in place, and plump, cherry-like lips kissing him, sliding smoothly over the seam of Sehun’s thinner lips. It’s a passionate, long-awaited kiss, and for the first time, Sehun doesn’t push him away. He sits there with his mouth closed, too stunned to respond.

“Come on,” Jongin whispers, and then everything happens so fast. It’s still dark; the only source of light is a shaft of street light coming in through the white curtains. Jongin runs a hand down Sehun’s back, pulling him closer.

The sound of a gun going off is deafening. Sehun freezes.

*

Jongin’s mind is static. 

It still functioned moments ago, when he opened his eyes to search for Sehun’s reaction to his bold movement, but before he could find the expression he wanted to see on Sehun’s face, he saw something else first. A shadow behind the curtain. And it was definitely not a bird. 

When the light flickers on, he hears Sehun’s quiet gasp. Jongin’s scalp prickles. Why does his hand feel so hot? 

“Hey, Jongin, Jongin,” Sehun is hugging him, pressing Jongin’s head to his chest, but he isn’t looking at Jongin. He’s staring at a point past Jongin’s head, and out of curiosity, Jongin quickly turns around to find a body sprawled on the floor, blood pouring out from the gunshot wound on his neck. He’s clearly dead. 

And the gun, Sehun’s gun, is in Jongin’s left hand. 

A part of Jongin whispers, _Close your eyes_. A bigger part says, _Do you remember? This man broke into this room through the window. You saw him raising his gun. Took the gun from the back pocket of Sehun’s pants. You shot him down._

“No, no, no,” Jongin throws the gun away. It lands at the feet of the dead body. A bolt of terror strikes through him. He just _killed_ a man. Shot him without hesitation when his hazy mind realized that Sehun, who was lost in the unexpected kiss, had his back facing the gun in the attacker's hand. “No, no, no.”

Tears wreck his frame and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He chokes on thin air and claws at his throat.

“Jongin, stop,” Sehun tries to hold him down. “Calm down.”

Even Sehun has no effect on him now. He’s consumed by fear, his throat dry like sandpaper and his hands cold despite the burn from the barrel friction. He can’t stop crying, and he can’t find it in himself to breathe. It’s too much, too fucking much, and—

—Sehun is kissing him. _Really_ kissing him. Lips glide over lips, then he opens Jongin’s mouth with his thumb and slides his tongue in. Sehun’s lips are soft, his tongue is warm. He kisses Jongin until they’re out of breath, a string of saliva connecting their swollen lips when Jongin pulls away for air. He inhales sharply and lets Sehun draw him in again, licking and panting into his mouth. Sehun doesn’t stop kissing him, even when he strips Jongin off and starts fingering him open, curling and touching Jongin’s prostate, bringing stars to the darkness behind Jongin’s eyelids. His kisses turn messy and sloppy when he thrusts into Jongin, fierce and hot and no holding back. Jongin clenches around Sehun’s girth, and Sehun bites down on his lip, which Jongin knows would bloom into a bruise later. Sehun pulls away and then pushes back into him, thick cock sliding mercilessly over Jongin’s prostate until the only language Jongin can talk is broken gasps and whimpers. The obscene sound of skin slapping reverberates around the room, slick with lube, sweat and precome. 

“Come for me, baby,” Sehun breathes into Jongin’s ear, a hand moving down to jerk his cock in sensual strokes, and it takes Jongin a split second to reach his climax. His walls clench tightly around Sehun’s cock, and Sehun shudders before he spreads Jongin’s thighs wider and picks up his pace. 

The moment before Sehun comes, he presses down particularly hard on Jongin’s prostate, and seals Jongin’s scream with a heated kiss.

*

Jongin wakes up to the faint smell of antiseptic and it dawns on him that he’s in a suite on the VIP unit floor at Hanwa Medical Center. 

Vincent is sitting by his side. “Hey,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good,” Jongin mumbles. “Why am I here?”

“There wasn't any physical injury, but you were quite shaken about what happened. Kept having nightmares.” Jongin wonders if that’s true, if that’s what Sehun told Vincent. “The doctors ran a few tests. There’s no problem. You just need to rest.”

“I feel fine now.”

“I can tell,” Vincent closes the book he’s reading and leans closer to take Jongin’s hand in his. “It’s over. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Who was that guy?”

“A contract killer hired by one of my competitors. I already handled that.”

“Okay,” Jongin says, eyes flicking to the book on top of the drawer. On the black cover, the red text reads, _Know Your Enemy_.

*

Sehun stops when he’s a breath away from claiming Jongin’s lips. 

“Damn,” Jongin angles his head and brushes his thumb along Sehun’s cheek. “At least finish what you start.”

“No,” Sehun shifts from one foot to the other. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.”

“Jongin,” Sehun takes a step back. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let me rephrase the question. Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

“I may have my brains fucked out, but I don’t have any cognition disorder.” Jongin huffs. “So the answer to your question is yes. I know.”

“You want me to kill Mr. Lee.”

“No,” Jongin says. “I want _us_ to kill him. Together.”

“Jongin, you’re talking about murder here,” Sehun takes in a sharp breath. “You’re talking about murder someone with connections in the big league and a whole team of elite bodyguards. In a place monitored by top-notch security systems. Why?”

“You know I hate this,” Jongin’s shoulders slump. He sits down on the edge of the bed. “But it’s either kill or to be killed. And it won’t be just me in the second option.”

Since the day Vincent told him he’d taken care of the assassin, a lot of things have happened that turn the eggshells Jongin’s been walking on into ticking bombs, ready to explode at any given second. First, the secretary of the Minister of Economy and Finance was taken into custody following a search at his private residence. _Government official arrested on suspicions of treason_. Second, the Supreme Court approved a request to reopen the murder case of the Vice Minister of Employment and Labor, due to _“the discovery of new evidence”_. An account digged up a conspiracy theory from two years ago, which stated that the Vice Minister was murdered in cold blood under the pretense of a robbery gone wrong because he knew secrets, that there were traitors in the government who sided with the Japanese mafia, giving out classified information, breaking South Korea from the inside and pushing them in the direction of war. The post went viral after a night, and on the same day, Vincent told Jongin to leave for the U.S. with him.

“He uses Aera noona as leverage. Told me if I didn’t flee with him, he’d cut off all financial support and soon she’d die. I don’t know exactly what role he plays in this whole thing with the higher-ups. I don’t even know what that thing is, but nothing good comes out of this kind of business.” Jongin kneads his shoulders. “And I think he knows about us.”

Sehun stiffens. “How come?”

“I don’t know,” Jongin rubs his eyes. “I’m not that good at pretending, I guess. And with what happened lately, sometimes my body doesn’t act the way I want it to. Vincent is not stupid. He’s pretty observant. Probably picks up hints here and there. Anyway, I’m sure it’s a bad time for him and his...friends. They’re trying to get out. I’m not sure why he wants to keep me, though. Am I that good in bed?”

A line appears between Sehun’s immaculate brows. “Jongin, this really isn’t the time to ask for review.”

“Right,” Jongin nods. “So, what I want to say is Vincent’s planning something, and it’s not good. He’s on edge.” He lifts up his shirt to reveal a red bruise on his hip. “And it won’t take long before he snaps.”

Jongin tilts his head back when Sehun kneels down and kisses the bruise. Sehun breaks into a wry smile. “Well, at least that hasn’t changed. When I touch you.” He places both hands on Jongin’s knees. “Why do you want to do this?”

On the night that Jongin killed the man, the night that Sehun kissed him for the first time and fucked him until he passed out, Jongin dreamed. He was underwater this time; his vision could only make out several splotches of color. The pressure increased drastically in his ears, in his lungs, his heart, every inch of his body. There were no sounds from the outside world. Jongin closed his eyes and swam forward, hoping to see lands and grains of sand. He was engulfed in the peaceful water when he felt a brush against his ear. Startled, Jongin opened his eyes, but he was all by himself.

Then a voice rumbled, and Jongin recognized it from the dreams before.

This time, it was only one word.

"Fearless."

_Be fearless._

Instead, he tells Sehun, “Do you want to hear about my plan?”

Sehun’s nose crinkles, but eventually, he says, “Okay.”

“I’ll pretend to agree to his plan,” Jongin begins. “I already hinted at it, by the way. Then comes the visa application. I’ll persuade him to let me apply for a visa the right way, no pulling connection or whatever. In order to do that, I need him to transfer money to my bank account so my application looks reliable. No trace from him, of course. That would give me a sufficient balance. I will use the money to make some arrangements for noona first. Vincent will let his guard down if I obey him. And then we kill him.”

“Two questions. First, how do you plan to kill him? Second, what about Aera noona? Her treatment has to continue.”

“I managed to get in touch with Wonshik last week. He’s the friend who went coffee shop hunting with me in college. He’s working at a hospital in New York now, and he knows a lot of good doctors. He told me about a loan program for cancer patients. They aren’t going to cover everything, and definitely no luxury private room, but she can continue her treatment. I can cover the rest.” Jongin gives him a half smile. “Yeah. The kill. He has a vacation house near Bukhansan. I could lure him there.”

“Jongin, you say he’s been on edge. He’s gonna be extra cautious. You can’t expect him to go hiking without an army on his tail.”

“My initial thought was to use poison. A little bit, day by day.” Jongin sighs. “But we don’t have that much time.”

“Why do you want to do this?” Sehun asks again. “You never succumb to Mr. Lee morally. You try your best to stay away from those...underground things he’s involved with, and suddenly now you want to taint your hands?”

_Be brave._

Jongin has lived what people say are the best years of one’s life, the wild and free youth, for the sake of others. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his sister more than anyone in this world, and he’d let people use him over and over again if that could pay her hospital bills and save her life. But it doesn’t change the fact that he barely has anything for himself. What he planned to start after college ended in a dull, shameful life beyond his control.

_Have courage._

Until he met Sehun. Sehun with pretty hair and pretty eyes. Sehun who is strong and loyal. Sehun who genuinely cares about him and makes him want to be a better version of himself. Sehun who resembles a blazing sun, casting light upon Jongin’s darkness, dragging him out of the water. Sehun who puts Jongin before himself, and it’s not only because of his commitment to his job. The painfully beautiful selfless act that ties Jongin to him like an invisible rope.

_Fearless._

Love. The things you do for love are sometimes the things you used to tell yourself you’d never do. Jongin thinks back to the movie he watched with Aera. Right person at the wrong time may be a misconception after all. Because the right person is timeless. For them, you’d do everything.

Those recurring dreams are not coincidences. Jongin’s subconscious may be trying to tell him from the start. That he’s met the one. That in this life, nothing comes easy. And there’s nothing bad with putting up a fight, if the outcome is worth it. 

He imagines him and Sehun wake up in a small apartment in the outskirts of the city, the scent of rose tea paints Sehun’s milky skin, and Sehun smiles his signature eye smile at him, before they have to stop kissing and get out of the house to catch the subway to their respective workplace.

When you’re in love, be fearless. Be brave. Have courage.

*

Oh, how fast the night changes.

Thirty minutes earlier, Sehun looked up at him with his jaw tightened. 

Twenty five minutes earlier, he sank to the floor and crossed his legs. “You’re unbelievable.”

Twenty minutes earlier, he said, “Give me some time to think about it. But let me tell you why I said none of your plans would work and you should stop getting ideas from those thriller movies on HBO.”

Ten minutes earlier, Jongin shut him up with a kiss, which turned to two kisses, then three. And more.

Now, both of them are looking straight into the barrel of Vincent’s gun. Sehun’s gun is out of reach, somewhere in the pile of clothes strewn on the floor. 

“It's quite a shitty move that you pulled on me, Sehun.” Vincent’s eyes gleam with vengeance. “I should’ve known. Did he take your cock good, that slut?”

In hindsight, telling Vincent that he was the one who shot the assassin may not make it to the List of Oh Sehun’s Best Decisions. The sound alarm system, one that would be triggered by any sound louder than a whisper, didn’t go off that night, so telling Vincent that he found out because of Jongin’s gut-wrenching scream was a wrong move.

“Yui-chan tells me to keep an eye out for rats. Never thought I’d catch two at once.” Vincent cocks his gun. “What a pity, because I really like you, Jongin. You too, Sehun. You’re smart and intuitive. Your prince-like appearance is such a good camouflage. You could’ve gone up a high rank had you joined me.”

Jongin snorts from behind Sehun. “And violate the laws and drive two countries to war so you can benefit from arms trade? That’s dirty.”

“You’re not too bad for a fuck toy,” Vincent laughs. “Ah, I shouldn't have been so careless.”

“Or maybe you suck.”

“Be quiet,” Sehun hisses. “Jongin.”

“It’s alright, let him talk,” Vincent grins. “Because soon, I’ll seal that mouth shut for eternity.”

“Hey,” Jongin mumbles into the bare skin of Sehun’s back. “Sehunnie, I lo—”

The nickname sends a tingle down his spine. “Please just stay quiet when I’m figuring this shit out.”

Vincent glances at his watch, and then his finger closes in on the trigger.

The alarm system immediately goes off at full blast at the raucous sound of three gunshots.

*

“I’ve sent out a notice to police all over the country. We will not stop until we find out what happened to Vincent Lee.”

A calloused hand picks up the Manila folder. “Are you sure this is not a homicide? Vincent Lee is a famous businessman. He must have made enemies.”

“We can’t rule out that possibility completely, Sir. I can’t make any conclusion until I know where Vincent Lee is. There is concrete evidence at the crime scene that indicates a robbery. The safe hidden in the wall of his bedroom was broken. Documents were missing. Jewelry and cash were gone. The residents in the neighborhood also reported seeing a strange white car at the same time, around 4 PM, every day for a week before the attack. This is a meticulous plan. Vincent Lee always had a team of elite bodyguards with him. According to the head bodyguard, on the night Vincent Lee was attacked, he was at a gala dinner when he found out he forgot something at home. He said it was a gift for someone at the dinner, therefore he insisted on going back. He only brought two guards with him, saying retrieving the gift from his desk in the lounge wouldn’t take longer than ten seconds. The two guards were found unconscious at the door. They haven’t regained consciousness yet. The hospital said they sustained severe head injuries.”

“Doesn’t that gift sound suspicious to you?” A calculated pause. “You’re at an important dinner. Then you see someone you know, and remember a souvenir you bought for them during your trip to the beach. Would you forfeit everything and rush home? It doesn’t sound like proper etiquette to me. Don’t you agree, Inspector Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol bows low. “Yes, Sir. It’s on the last page of my report. I think Vincent Lee didn’t rush home to get something, but to hide something from whoever he saw at the dinner. There’s a high chance that two parties are involved in this. One is the robbery. The robbers entered Vincent Lee's bedroom through the rooftop, after they disabled the sensor system. There was no evidence that they went downstairs to the lounge where Lee was attacked. The camera footage my team managed to retrieve showed that Lee only went to his desk for 6.2 seconds. He was heading back to the door when the power went out. It didn't seem like he was aware of the robbery upstairs. Therefore, I think the other party could be the sharks we’ve been trying to catch.”

“How is it going with the press?”

“Jisoo is handling it,” Chanyeol says. “All she says is that we should stay away from the internet for now.”

That earns Chanyeol a laugh. “Alright, Chanyeol, you can leave. Make sure this case is our top priority. Call in all the reinforcements you need. Keep me updated.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Doesn’t Vincent Lee have a lover?”

“Kim Jongin was our first suspect, but his alibi checked out. He was meeting up with his friends at a bar in Itaewon when the attack happened. The staff at the bar confirmed it. We checked the security camera, and ran his fingerprints on the glass he used through our system. All matched. We did the same with his bodyguard too. They were cleared.”

“Poor boy. The one left behind is often the one who suffers the most.”

“From my impression, Kim Jongin is strong. He will get through it, Sir.”

*

When Chanyeol disappears around the corner at the end of the hallway, the man turns his chair around to face the splendid city view from his eleventh floor office window.

“Hey, B.”

There’s a cheerful giggle from the other line. “Long time no see, old friend. What are you doing on this lovely sunny afternoon?”

“Cut the small talk. You know why I call.”

“I do.” The voice sing-songs. “But I’m in the middle of baking a very important batch of cookies, so do you mind if I get back to you later?”

“Vincent Lee is dead.”

“Cool. Isn’t that what you want? A threat eliminated.”

“It’s not our deal, B. You promised you’d bring him in so I could extract information from him about the Japanese rats in our government.”

“Ah, you actually sound like the Superintendent General now.” The voice becomes amused. “Maybe if you keep using that tone, one day I’ll believe you invest so much in this operation because you are serious about the oath you took and not because your cool Chinese friends dislike kimonos and sashimi.”

A frustrated sigh. “Okay, enough. Now, what’s the next step?”

“I can give you a cookie, but not my recipe.” The background noise fades. It seems like the owner of the voice has moved to somewhere quieter. “And I never said I’d bring Lee _to you_. I said I’d bring him in. I will let it go this time, but one more assumption like that and I’ll make sure you will never get to eat my delicious homemade cookie.”

The fight drains out in the flash of an eye. “Fine. I’ll send you a new oven. Give me a call when you’re done with your baking. I can’t keep sending my guys out on the street. It would reflect badly on me.”

“Don’t worry, I already have the list of ingredients. Have I ever failed to deliver before?”

“No, you haven't.” A low whisper. “You’re the best, B.”

*

“Why didn’t you tell the Superintendent General about this?”

Chanyeol lifts up a brow. “Huh?”

Jaehyun, his partner, slides his phone to him. On the screen is a crime scene photo of an item found in the safe, a film photograph of Vincent Lee, a lady dressed in Gucci from head to toe, the right hand man of the most notorious arm dealer in Japan, and a man Chanyeol has seen countless times at every important ceremony of the National Police Agency. He’d hated the man at the first speech, and well, first impression is usually right. In the vintage picture, the four of them were raising a toast with fireworks in the background. 

“This is enough to confirm he and Vincent Lee are on the same side,” Jaehyun says. “And when you consider his title, we can escalate the case so—”

“Let’s wait a bit more, Jae,” Chanyeol interjects. “Many of them are still lurking in the shadow. We need to be careful. What’s that phrase that Johnny from Narcotics always says?”

“Throw a sprat to catch a mackerel.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Then, what do you think about this?” Jaehyun slides to the next photo in his camera roll. Another crime scene photo. “The...thing that Vincent took a risk to go back home to hide. Or as we theorized, to leave a message for his Japanese lady.”

In the photo, there is a torn piece of paper on the fourth page of a book. One letter, written in blue ink. Vincent was shaking like a leaf when he wrote it.

**开**

“Kāi.” Jaehyun says, his accent heavy. “It means to open. Or it can be used to signify a beginning. Why did Lee use a Chinese character?”

“Maybe what we have now is just the tip of the iceberg,” Chanyeol narrows his eyes. “So be patient. Wait until we find the whole fucking Titanic.”

“You’re right,” Jaehyun says after a while. He throws his empty coffee cup into the trash can. “Hey, wanna grab dinner? I know a place that sells the best ramen in Seoul.”

“Sure,” Chanyeol laughs as he follows his partner. “But no beer, buddy. I’m on duty tonight.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Chanyeol ignores it; no personal phone allowed in the interrogation room. The screen brightens with a notification. A message from an unknown number. It reads:

_“Good job, Chanyeol._

_Stay tuned. This is just the beginning._

_\- B.”_

Fifteen seconds pass, and everything fades to black as Chanyeol’s phone auto locks.

*

“Your drink looks so…green.”

Sehun hums around his straw. “It’s Kyoto matcha frappuccino with three additional matcha scoops.” He takes another long sip. “Did you dye your hair again, hyung?”

The honeycomb yellow light filtered through UN Village’s pastel pink glass window lands on silky white hair. “Yeah, Kyungsoo loves this color.”

The black-haired barista with doe eyes, Kyungsoo, deadpans from behind the counter. “I certainly hate it, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun sticks his tongue at Kyungsoo, who promptly ignores him, and then tilts his head to take a good look at Sehun. “Your cheekies are gone.”

“ _I_ was almost gone. My cheeks are the least of my concern.” Sehun rolls his eyes. “But I’m okay. We’re okay.”

Baekhyun’s eyes soften. “How’s he doing?”

“Good. He starts his ballet lessons on Monday. He’s happy. He still has nightmares, but he’s getting better at dealing with them.” His lips curve into a smile. “He makes the best steak.”

“Listen, Sehun, if you need more time, I’m sure we can—”

“It’s alright, hyung. I told you before. A few more days won’t change anything. I don’t want to delay my arc of redemption.”

Baekhyun frowns. “There’s no such thing—”

“Come on, B.” The nickname rolls off Sehun’s tongue smooth like butter. He exhales. “You don’t need to comfort me. I know I fucked up. This is my worst mission. A failure. I made so many newbie mistakes and I almost got us killed.”

“But you didn’t.” Baekhyun interrupts. “You left the gun under the pillow in advance and now you’re here. I wouldn’t call it a failure. It’s just...messy, Agent Oh.”

“It is,” Sehun admits. “Especially when Jongin was the one who found the gun and pulled the trigger. For the second time. Because I’m a useless bitch.”

“Stop the self-blame show,” Baekhyun’s voice lowers, and all of a sudden he’s no longer the bubbly, carefree guy hanging around in the cozy coffee shop. His eyes darken and Sehun feels it, the intimidating aura of B., the leader of _Delight_ , an agency that is polar opposite of its name. Delight is a myth in one body, not known to the public, an entity not bound by any rule or law that isn’t their own. They are notorious for the capacity to pull off impossible missions. Their clients are mostly government agencies who seek to identify and eliminate national threats, or sometimes, to create one. Delight doesn’t discriminate by occupation or country; they operate with their own principles and that’s what makes them unpredictable, a wild card. “We got what we came for, so it’s all good.”

“I had one job,” Sehun says, bitter. “And I couldn’t do it.”

Baekhyun picks up his mug, and turns the side with a hand-drawn smiley face towards Sehun. 

Outside, the sun descends below the horizon, painting the cloudless sky with reds and golds, with a thousand fires, and realization swells in Sehun’s gut. 

“It was never about Vincent Lee, was it?” Gone is the sweetness of vanilla syrup on Sehun’s tongue as shock steals his words. “You knew about Vincent. You knew he was the liaison between the yakuza and the traitors in our government. The Minister of Economy and Finance. The Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs. You didn’t send me in to gather information on Vincent and his connections to those people. You already had the information.”

Baekhyun’s eyes are steady on him. Sehun feels numb. 

“It’s about Project 开.” Sehun says. “You sent us in for a trial run. Not only him, but me as well. It didn’t matter if I could kill Vincent or not. You already had it planned. Irene wasn’t just a clean-up girl. She was the main character in this operation. She was the one keeping watch. Taking care of Vincent and the rats in the government. Fabricating our alibis. On behalf of you.”

“Your mind is as impeccable as ever, Sehun,” Baekhyun smiles. “I told you, it was not a failure. You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

Sehun doesn’t want to ask how well he did. 

“Also, the final act was interesting,” Baekhyun says in his lovely, quiet voice. “Your father taught you well.”

It was Jongin who pulled the trigger, but Sehun was the one who delivered the final touch. It’s Murder 101: No body, no crime. It’s easy. The alkaline hydrolysis machine did all the work, emitting a low hum as the flesh dissolved off the bones, and in three hours, the body became a sterile watery liquid that smelled like steamed clams. The bones were air dried, because pure calcium phosphate took forever to dissolve, and then smashed, by manpower, before they were taken back to the safety of The Lab, where Baekhyun’s right hand man, Jongdae, would add them to his collection for future experiments.

“My father taught me how to dissect a body to find justice for the dead.” Sehun’s father was the best pathologist in South Korea. “For me to do all of this.” He looks at Baekhyun in the eyes. _“You_ taught me well, hyung.”

“Glad to hear that,” Baekhyun chirps. “I’m also glad that we now have enough data to run an in-depth analysis on how 开 recipients reacted to various factors. The results will definitely help identify potential risks and how to mitigate them. Jongdae will have a lot of work to do. But I have to say, the bond between you guys is impressive. Even when he was programmed to forget, he still gravitated towards you. His intuition is amazing. Both kills were pretty clean. He really didn’t know how to miss a shot, did he?”

“He was trained by the best, hyung,” Sehun says. “His boyfriend has never missed one since his first shot at the age of twelve.”

“Stop referring to yourself in the third person. It’s too cute. I can’t stand it.”

*

Sehun met Jongin when they were eighteen. Their story was cliché: it started as a drunken hook-up at a college party, then they saw each other frequently around campus, and kept hooking up. It was fun, it was meant to be something more, until they ran into each other at The Lab and found out they both belonged to the most dangerous secret agency, founded by one of the greatest minds of mankind, also one of the most unpredictable, the prodigy Baekhyun, the youngest NIS agent in history who infiltrated and took down an international crime syndicate at the age of seventeen. No one knew why Baekhyun quit NIS, but that just made him more powerful than ever.

Sehun was trained to be a field agent, Jongin was trained to be a scientist to follow his brother Jongdae's footsteps. They managed to keep it casual, citing risky occupation as the reason to not date, until Sehun’s 21st birthday, when a stab wound and a broken leg forced them to come to terms with their feelings.

Project 开 began on Jongin’s 24th birthday, something that had never been done before, but Jongdae didn’t get the nickname _Madman_ among renowned scientists for no reason. He’s the best among the best, so after three years, he finishes the first prototype. Crystal clear liquid tastes just like water that could temporarily erase someone’s memories in 24 hours. The liquid brings the brain back to _tabula rasa_ , a blank slate. During the time the mind becomes an empty canvas, a data block of fabricated memories could be programmed into the person’s brain using a special device invented by Minseok, the agency’s chief engineer. The real memories will be locked up. With fake memories, a _new_ person will be born. It’s brainwashing on an extremely advanced level. Baekhyun approved the project with the intention of utilizing this technique for highly classified, dangerous operations, ones that must be carried out with absolute perfection. When the operation is over, the person could take an antidote, and the real data block of memories will be returned to them. They can choose to keep a part of the fabricated memories, though it’s not recommended. 

It sounds like a crazy idea from a movie script, but Jongdae has found a way to make it come true. 

A week after they celebrated Sehun’s 27th birthday, Jongin told him he’d volunteered to join the first clinical trial of 开 as part of his next assignment. He showed Sehun pictures of Vincent Lee at lavish parties with high-ranking politicians, and a profile that detailed _Kim Jongin, 24, orphan, an accountant with a passion for ballet, an elder sister diagnosed with cancer and suffered head injury from car accident, sugar baby_.

“It’s alright, Sehunnie,” Jongin told him. “I’ve never been good at memorizing things, so this isn’t going to cause me any brain damage. I trust Jongdae hyung and Minseok hyung. We also have Junmyeon hyung. He’s the best neurologist in the country. I’ll be fine.”

He kissed Sehun’s cheek. “Just ask Baekhyun hyung to put you on one of those real life K-drama operations? The widowed clients with a superiority complex that pay us a fortune to take down their rival’s company because they lost a mahjong game? Then you can spend all day wearing tuxedo and playing poker and before you know it, I’ll be back.”

“You’ll forget,” Sehun said.

Jongin pressed his nose against Sehun’s, his eyes reminded Sehun of autumn, warm and beautiful and his favorite season of the year. “I usually forget everything,” he wrapped a curl of Sehun’s hair around his pinky, “especially everything before you.”

On the night before D-day, Sehun sneaked out after Jongin’d fallen asleep to knock on Baekhyun’s door. He requested to join Jongin in the same operation. It took Baekhyun a long drag of his Cuban cigar to agree, on one specific condition.

*

“Sending you in with Jongin was a risk itself. Too personal.” 

“Yet you let me do it,” Sehun twists the silver band on his ring finger. His couple rings with Jongin. 

“The project is important. The more data I could gather for Jongdae, the better. We will never have an ideal situation in real life, so calculating all risk factors is the key.”

“You’re a nice person, hyung,” Sehun smoothes down his shirt. “They said B. was a heartless monster, but that’s not it. You knew I was miserable, so you let me in. You knew there was a risk that I’d fuck up everything, but you didn’t turn me down. I really appreciate that.”

Baekhyun shoots him a half smile. Unlike Jongin’s nervous, tentative half smile, Baekhyun’s is a projection of authority and sharp mind. “Everyone learns from experience. Now you’ve seen it all, you know what to do.” 

"I do," Sehun says. "I hope you do, too."

When Baekhyun opens his palm to offer Sehun a lollipop, Sehun couldn't help staring at the one word tattoo on his delicate wrist, with sharp and fine needlework in black.

 _Fearless_.

It's the motto of Delight.

*

Jongin practically dances around the table as he lays out a reversible tablecloth with a white background and pink flowers. He sets up the silverware with utmost care, and takes time out of setting the table to admire the fresh purple daisies in a dark amber bottle. The delicious smell of Sehun’s home cooked one-pot chicken stew makes his mouth water.

Sehun turns around to kiss Jongin when he feels the latter’s arms wrap around his waist from behind. Jongin’s lips taste like latte and soft like marshmallow. The warm feeling of Jongin’s breath in his mouth is inviting. His heart skips a beat when Jongin’s fingers travel down his skin with a mind of their own.

Then Jongin pulls away. He laughs, loud and just so happy. “I love you, but I don’t want to ruin the stew.” He looks over Sehun’s shoulder to where the pot is. “I’m starving. We can continue after we finish dinner.”

Sehun leans in to place a butterfly kiss on Jongin’s forehead, and the shy smile shining in Jongin’s eyes was like a summer rain, pouring over him and washing away all his worries. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Sure,” Sehun says. “Dinner will be ready when you’re back.”

He waits until Jongin disappears into the bathroom to turn off the stove and carefully pulls out a mocha ice cream pint he brought back earlier. Except there’s no ice cream inside the pin. Just two vials of clear liquid, with their initials printed on top of each. Jongin’s vial is the antidote. Sehun’s vial is a new dose of 开. 

It’s the condition that Baekhyun offered him. To become a subject for the second trial. Sehun is a perfect candidate, because he was the only one that witnessed Jongin’s trial from beginning to end. He was the only one that knew about the potential risks of this frightening invention thoroughly.

He hears Jongin sing to a cute cartoon OST from the bathroom. In ten minutes, Jongin will finish drying his hair. In five minutes, Sehun has to empty the vials into their glasses of wine. 

Then they will eat dinner with jazz music playing softly from a speaker, because Jongin is a classic romantic. Jongin will tell him what happened at his ballet class today. He will tell him about another coffee shop he discovers on his route to work, and will pout until Sehun agrees on a date. These are familiar things, things they’ve been doing in their ten years together.

The new thing is, when their glasses are emptied, Jongin will begin to remember, and Sehun will begin to forget. It’d happened before, only this time, their roles are reversed. 

*

“Does it get easier?”

Sehun lets out a heavy sigh. “Does it get easier knowing that he’ll be in my shoes and I’ll wake up having no recollection of everything we’ve been through together in a decade? Hell no.”

“But?”

Sehun thinks of bear sweaters in their wardrobe, of morning kisses and messy hair, of Sunday nights ordering Chinese take-out and watching Netflix together in their PJs, of gunshot scars on golden skin that just make Jongin more beautiful, of smiles and tears and blood they’ve shared, of how they broke their legs and their arms and their bones so many times but not their promises. And they won’t. 

“We’ll always find our way back to each other.” Sehun thinks of the diamond ring he’d bought, which is currently with Junmyeon. He wants Jongin to have no clue when he asks. “It doesn’t matter who is the one that forgets. It will always be him at the end of the day. It has to be him."

*

Thirty seconds before they raise a toast, Jongin leans over the table to kiss Sehun.

“I love you,” Jongin smiles, and gracefully lifts his glass. “To our happiness.”

“To our happiness,” Sehun smiles back. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for monthlysekai's Challenge #3 — Re: KAI with Reason and Amnesia.
> 
> Title taken from Reason's lyrics. 
> 
> I let my imagination run too far with this, but for me the chase is worth it. Thank you Grace for the unconditional support. I love you.
> 
> [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/forsekais)


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